


how glad i was to be myself

by CCs_World



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Artistic License Was Taken With This Fic, Canon-typical swearing, F/M, Fascism, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, alternate title: cc's big book of ocs starring some taz characters, i'M trying ok, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2018-12-24 02:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12002976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCs_World/pseuds/CCs_World
Summary: (and use my heart once more)Magnus Burnsides appears in the desert. Julia is afraid of change. Kalen rules the town with an iron fist.(Title lyrics from Mumford and Sons' "The Banjolin Song")





	1. wherever it was you came from

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus appears in the desert. Julia fears the unknown. Steven opens his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember seeing you, my tongue struck dumb  
> When you first came here from wherever it was you came from  
> The Mountain Goats, “Genesis 30:3”

Raven’s Roost: a town built on tall rock spires (given names by the residents: Craftsmen’s Corridor, Central Spire, Village Rock, and The Roost, to name a few), governed by a man named Kalen who some call “mad”.

Known for: craftsmen, mostly. People who create, then sell what they’ve made.

Population: Unknown. Nobody’s ever bothered to count.

* * *

Nobody visits Raven’s Roost.

Nobody  _ ever _ visits Raven’s Roost.

This is, supposedly, a good thing. Governor Kalen is always warning against the “enemies”--although nobody is quite sure who those “enemies” are supposed to be. He’s been preaching about them since he got here more than fifteen years ago. Apparently, they’re a big deal.

It’s killing business. Everyone knows this. Raven’s Roost is purely craftsmen and women who create and sell. And since nobody is coming into the town to buy, the people are having to go out to sell. The trip through the desert to the nearest town is not an easy one, but one works with what one has. After all, they have to get materials from somewhere.

The travelling traders are the only ones welcomed in. Everybody knows them: Mara Brightscales, who brings both raw metal and metal items; Jeremy Kamp, who brings semi-fresh fruits and vegetables; Laura and Gregar Stormrider, who bring wood; Ardum Vendi and their small family, who bring textiles.

But newcomers? Visitors? Unheardof.

* * *

Julia Waxmen stands, bored, looking down from atop a spire. The late afternoon sun is hot and makes reflections across the bare desert rock below, shimmering puddles of pure heat that make the girl sweat just to look at it.

She hates summertime at Raven’s Roost. It’s sweltering hot, it’s dry, and it hardly ever rains--and when it does rain, it’s normally torrential and when it’s over, the air is so humid she feels like she’s swimming.

She throws a rock from the top of the pillar and tugs at the bodice of her already loose dress, trying her best to stay cool.

It has been a long day working in her father’s forge, the Hammer and Tongs. Her back and arms ache, not to mention her head--the amount of orders pouring in today has been extraordinary. It’s always worth it, of course. Julia loves working in the forge--shaping metal into anything. Horseshoes, clothes hooks, fire irons, gate posts--if you could name it, the Waxmens could make it. It was part of the Waxmen pride--for generations, they had worked the forge and shaped metal and carved wood. Just because Julia is a girl doesn’t mean that the tradition shouldn’t be passed down.

She is the strongest woman in Raven’s Roost. Her shoulders are broad from wielding a hammer, her hands are calloused, her body tanned, her face ruddy. She is tough and hard and stubborn. She is a Waxmen.

She tosses another rock over the edge of the spire and looks out across the flat rock at the waves of heat.

That’s when she sees it: something moves in the desert.

Julia peers harder at the terrain. There’s a figure. Is that… is that a man?

_ Nobody ever visits Raven’s Roost _ , she thinks.

The girl shields her eyes from the glaring sun and looks harder, squinting to try to make out more details. He waves at her. He is broad, she sees, and seems to be stumbling. He might be injured.

He might be an enemy.

Kalen has been here since Julia was very small, and has been consistently warning people about the dangers of strangers, but nobody has ever seen anyone suspicious.

But this man could be one of them. The town could be in danger.

She runs from the edge and into her father’s workshop (the Hammer and Tongs, seven generations strong) and skids to a stop on her heels, gasping. “Dad, Dad, there’s a man coming, he--I don’t know who he is, but--what if he’s one of those enemies Kalen is always talking about, what if--”

Steven holds up his hands placatingly, stepping closer to his daughter. “Julia. Calm down.”

“But--”

“Julia.” His voice, though still calm and placating, has a stern edge to it now. He places a hand, gently, on her shoulder. She relaxes slightly. “There have never been, nor will there ever be, enemies at Raven’s Roost, except for a few already inside it.” He casts a dark look towards Central Spire. “We should invite the stranger in. He must be hungry and tired from his walk across the desert.”

Julia opens her mouth to argue, but decides it’s wiser to be quiet and instead just nod. She’s inherited her stubbornness from her father, and she knows he’s not going to back down.

He smiles. “Alright?”

She returns the expression, though it isn’t as genuine. “Yeah.”

* * *

Somewhere in the desert, Magnus comes to.

_ It’s really hot, _ is his first thought. Then,  _ Where am I? _

He has a brief memory of a woman, tall and dark, taking him here. She points at the tall pillars of rock nearby and says something before vanishing.  _ Magnus, _ she says,  _ I’m sorry. There’s a place there for you. _

Magnus squints at the rocks, hazy from the heat, and takes a step towards them. Instantly, the world spins around him and he almost falls.  _ Shit, _ he thinks, or maybe says out loud.  _ Something’s wrong with my head. _ He pauses, blinks at the dusty horizon.  _ Eyes? Brain? _ He takes another step. Same result, though less intense. He wobbles but remains standing.

_ One foot at a time, _ he says, or maybe thinks, and he does it.

He peers at the gigantic spires which get gradually closer, and he sees a figure. Long dress, long hair, broad shoulders, small waist, staring out at the horizon. A woman? A girl.

He waves at her. He knows he has to get somebody’s attention, or he could die out here in the desert. And wouldn’t that just be an awful way to die?

She sees him. “Hail and well met,” he says, but his voice is thick and raspy and doesn’t carry. He doesn’t know why he thought it would, he’s still hundreds of feet away, and she’s high in the sky. So, so high above him.

Then she runs away, and Magnus is once again alone.

* * *

It takes longer than Julia wants to get to the bottom of Craftsman’s Corridor, and by the time she and her father reach the base of the pillar, the man is only a few yards away. “Hail and well met,” he says in a hoarse, gruff voice. Normally, Julia supposes, it would be intimidating, but it’s so weak from exhaustion that she feels some measure of pity for the stranger.

He’s even larger up close. Well over six feet tall, broad, muscular, hairy, and with  _ sideburns. _ Auburn ones, which blend upward and back into thick, shoulder-length hair. He’s panting, sweaty, and wearing a strange red robe, which has a tattered hole in the chest where something seems to have been torn or cut off. “I’m Magnus, and you’re beautiful,” he says to Julia with a rather vacant grin, and promptly collapses.

Julia glares at his unconscious form. “Who does he think he is?” she mutters.

Steven shakes his head. “He could be delirious. It’s incredibly hot out on the desert.”

“He could be  _ dangerous, _ Dad.” She eyes the man.

“He needs our help. We can handle ourselves if he does turn out to be harmful.” Steven gives his daughter a pointed look.

Left with no choice, she sighs and bends down to lift the man--Magnus--and help him lean against her shoulder. He mumbles something that sounds like “I can do it by myself” and she can’t help but chuckle and say, “Do you want me to drop you?”

“Mmmmh… no,” he sighs, and Julia replies, “I thought so. C’mon, stranger, let’s get you outta the sun.”

She’s never felt so afraid.

* * *

Magnus, his weight heavy and nearly-- _ nearly _ \--too much for Julia to hold, stumbles assisted up the long path to the top of Craftsman’s Corridor. There stands the Hammer and Tongs, sturdy and strong, windows glowing a warm golden-orange from the fires inside. Julia helps Magnus indoors and sits him down in a worn wooden chair, and Steven goes to fetch a healer’s kit, leaving the pair alone in the room.

Julia is no nurse, but she knows that she has to get him cooled down, so she dips a cloth in cool water and places it over his forehead. Gradually he comes to, groggy and disoriented. “Hi,” he says weakly. “I’m Mag-Magnus. Magnus Burnsides.”

“You told us that before.” She eyes him narrowly. “How did you get out in the desert?”

“I… um…” He scrunches his eyes closed. “I don’t… remember.”

Julia bites her lip.  _ Very _ suspicious.

“You must be thirsty,” Julia says, and quickly fills a glass of water for him. His eyes sharpen a bit as he snatches the glass from her hand--his are so big, they dwarf both her hands and the glass--and drains the vessel in a single swallow. His throat bobs once and he exhales, his mouth curving in a slight approximation of a grin.

“Thanks,” he says, handing the glass back to the girl. He definitely seems a little more alert. “Could I… could I have some more?”

“Of course.” Julia resists the urge to clench her fists, trying not to let her body language betray her as she fetches--like some sort of servant--more water for the stranger.

He takes it gratefully, drinking it a little more slowly--three swallows this time--before asking, “What’s your name?”

“Why should I tell you?” she snaps. When he cringes slightly, she regrets her tone. “Sorry,” she repents. “I’m Julia.”

“Julia,” he says thoughtfully, rolling the name around in his mouth. “Juuuliiiiiaaaa,” he repeats. “Julia, Julia, Julia…” He suddenly laughs. “Now it doesn’t even sound like a word.”

Julia frowns slightly. “It’s a name, not a word,” she corrects. She’s not normally like this. She tries to relax; her shoulders are stiff and tight. Tries to become calm, cool, Julia Waxmen. It doesn’t really work, but she likes to think it does.

There’s silence. The low fire flickers in the hearth, sizzling softly. It adds a comforting ambiance to the atmosphere.

“Are you scared of me?”

“Huh?” She looks up and her eyes meet his. They are blue, clear, and more intelligent than one would have expected.

“Are you… afraid?” he repeats, breaking eye contact. “‘Cause, I mean, you shouldn’t be. I’m actually pretty scared myself.” He twiddles his fingers rather anxiously. It must be a tick.

Julia bites her lip. “Nobody visits Raven’s Roost,” she says quietly, gathering her pale blue skirt between her fingers. “You’re the first visitor we’ve had in years.”

“Well, I can see why.” He tries to crack a joke. “You guys are all the way up… here.” He gestures vaguely. “It’s hard to get up here. You’re pretty isolated.”

She smiles faintly at that. “I suppose we are.”

She looks up at him and notices that he’s just sort of… staring at her. The heat of the hearth is warm at her back but that doesn’t account for the rising temperature of her face. She hopes Magnus doesn’t notice the gradual flush creeping across her cheeks.

It’s at that moment that Steven finally re-emerges with a healer’s kit. “Alright, son, let’s see the damage.”

* * *

When Kalen first arrived at Raven’s Roost, he was young, strong, tan, and rather charming. He’d strode up the path to the top of Marketplace Spire, chatted with the vendors, cracked jokes with the residents, and generally made himself very open and pleasant. His speaking voice, clarion and mellifluous, drew people to him to listen to the tales he had to tell from the road. He spoke for a while before asking for the finest craftsman in all of Raven’s Roost, and was directed immediately to the Hammer and Tongs and, consequently, Steven Waxmen.

Julia was four years old at the time. She can still vaguely remember the tall, orange-haired, well-spoken man pushing open the door and stepping in. “Hello,” he’d said, spotting her first and putting on a friendly smile. “Is Steven here?”

Julia blinked at him with huge eyes before running through a doorway, calling for her father.

She wasn’t exactly sure what the man had wanted, but Steven had been rather miffed when Kalen left the shop. Steven muttered something about an “ornamental weapon” before turning to Julia and saying, “He was too friendly, Jules. Don’t ever trust that man, you hear?”

“Yes, daddy,” Julia agreed, nodding innocently.

* * *

A few hours have passed. Magnus is sitting on the floor by the hearth, sporting a bandage wrapped around his right arm to support a sprain from when he had collapsed earlier. Steven and Julia have been chatting about the town happenings, the customers that have arrived, the conversations they’ve had, and, apparently, a couple who has just eloped, and Magnus is listening eagerly. When Magnus yawns, it is gigantic and halts all conversation.

He flushes. “Sorry. Carry on.”

“No, no.” Steven glances up at a clock. “Look at the time, I think we should all be getting to bed. Here, Magnus, come with me.” Steven lights a candle and gestures to Magnus to follow.

Julia, Magnus sees, watches them go up the stairs. She looks decidedly unhappy. He wonders why.

Magnus is led quietly up a flight of stairs and into a dim hallway. “You can stay here for the night,” Steven says to Magnus, gesturing to a doorway to where Magnus supposes is the spare room. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to board you here forever, though.”

“No, no, that’s alright,” Magnus insists. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to find a place to live as soon as possible.”

Steven smiles gently in the candlelight, the shadows flickering on the walls as the flames waver. “I have a feeling you’ll fit right in here.”

Magnus nods once and takes a step into the room, before turning back and reiterating, “Thank you. And…” He pauses, biting his lip. “And tell Julia I said goodnight. She provided some welcome company for me today.”

Magnus does not miss the smirk Steven throws at him as he says, “Of course. I’m certain she will be happy to know that. Goodnight, Magnus.”

“‘Night, sir.” He closes the door and flops down on the bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

* * *

When her father comes back downstairs, Julia crosses her arms and looks away. No, she is  _ not _ pouting. She’s just… making a very unhappy face.

“Jules? What’s wrong?” Steven asks, his voice immediately concerned.

“I don’t like him, Dad,” she says, quietly, honestly. “I don’t want him here.”

Steven grimaces slightly. “I’m… sorry, honey, but he needs our help right now.”

“I know, I  _ know, _ ” she cries, arms uncrossing so she could grip the chair. “I just… he’s going to make things go crazy all over again. What’s Kalen going to do? What are  _ we _ going to do? I just got fu--freaking used to life without M-Mom, and now something else happens and I d-don’t want to have to g-get used to it, and…” She trails off, swiping a hand across her suddenly damp cheek. “I just w-want things to be  _ normal. _ ”

She tries desperately to hold back the tears. Julia is a Waxmen. She’s not supposed to cry. She’s supposed to be strong.

But her father folds her into his strong, familiar arms and hugs her and she takes a deep, shuddering breath and begins to cry, quiet and subtle, into his linen shirt that smells of lavender soap and wood and the forge.

_ Everything’s going to be different now _ , they both think.  _ Now is when everything changes. _

* * *

On Central Spire, a man in a tunic inscribed with two calligraphic “R”s, a shortsword at his side, runs into the governor’s office. “Sir,” he says, “sir, there’s somebody…  _ new _ here.”

Governor Kalen stands at his desk. In his clear voice, calm but tinged slightly with underlying anger, he asks, “ _ Who let them in? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Next chapter might not be up for a while. I'm bad at consistent updates lol  
> Leave some kindness in the comments and maybe check out my tumblr, @themindofcc!


	2. stepping forward out into the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia throws a fit. Magnus gains some rustic hospitality. Fascism shows its face in Raven's Roost. The chapter ends in tears, but not in a way you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stepping forward out into the day  
> Shrugging off the dust and memory  
> Though it's soaring still above your head  
> It is out of sight and none shall see  
> Bastille, “The Weight of Living Part 1”

When Magnus wakes up the next morning it is early. He rubs his eyes and sits up, wondering what it is that just woke him up.

_ CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! _

Oh.

He casts a quick glance at the red robe that now sits draped over a chair in the corner before pulling on his boots, tying his hair back, and walking down the narrow flight of stairs.

Steven stands at a counter, writing something down. The clanging noise continues, but he somehow manages to notice Magnus’s entrance and looks up at him with a smile. “Oh, good morning, Mr. Burnsides,” he says pleasantly. “Are you hungry? I’m afraid we don’t have too much right now, but I know there’s toast. There should be apples back in the kitchen, too.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Waxmen,” Magnus replies graciously, “but I’m not very hungry right now. What’s that sound?”

“Oh, that? That’s Julia. You can go into the forge--” he points-- “and see her, if you’d like. She’s very good at what she does.”

_ The forge? _ Magnus thinks.  _ What would she be doing in a forge? _

However, he does enter through the doorway Steven pointed to and there she is: sweating, red-faced, and focused, hair pulled back in a messy bun, a hammer in one hand and tongs in the other, shaping a piece of molten metal on an anvil. As he watches, she takes the metal and dunks it into a bucket, producing a loud hissing noise and a cloud of steam. When she lifts it out, he sees that it resembles a horseshoe. With the tongs, she places it in a roaring fire and pumps the bellows a few times before leaning back against the wall by the fireplace and wiping her brow with a handkerchief.

He can’t help but notice that she looks just as beautiful with her hair up as she does with it down.

He clears his throat. “A-hem… good morning.”

She startles so badly she nearly topples into the fireplace. “Ah! Magnus! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” Magnus says, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she says with a piercing glare. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks. You?”

“I was afraid of that,” she mutters under her breath. Magnus still hears her. “I slept fine.” She doesn’t make eye contact.

A few moments pass, then Julia picks up the tongs and swiftly brings the metal out of the fire and back onto the anvil, where she lifts a smaller hammer and begins beating the metal into a more refined shape.

“Why are you still here?” she asks after several minutes, her voice quiet and very concentrated.

“I like watching you. You’re really good.”

“Thanks, but I don’t like an audience.”

A moment of silence.

“You don’t like me.”

“No, I really don’t. I don’t want you here.” She returns to her work with a new vigor.

“Okay.” Magnus decides that it would be best if he respected her--never mess with a woman with a very large hammer in her hand--and exits the forge.

“Did she kick you out?” Steven asks, an amused note to his voice.

“Yeah. She says she doesn’t like me.”

Steven lets out a soft laugh. “That’s my Julia. Don’t worry,” he continues, “I’m sure she’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“Thank you, Mr. Waxmen.”

Magnus stands awkwardly for a moment before his stomach growls. Loudly. Blushing, he says, “Hey, uh, where did you say those apples were?”

Steven smiles. “I knew someone like you would be hungry after a day like you had yesterday.” He points. “Just inside there. There’s a box by the back door. You can’t miss it.”

With a mumbled statement of gratitude, Magnus lumbers into the kitchen and snags an apple from the box, taking a gigantic bite of it before returning to the room where Steven stands.

“So,” he says with his mouth half-full, “what do you guys do here?”

“Well, you saw the forge,” Steven answers, not looking up from his work. “Here at the Hammer and Tongs, we do blacksmithing, as well as some woodcarving and carpentry. It’s a fair enough business, especially when the traders come in.”

Magnus nods. “I’ve always liked woodcarving myself,” he says, then wonders why. He can’t remember ever doing woodcarving. He can’t remember….

A bell rings, startling Magnus out of his thoughts and Steven into dropping his pen. “Oh, good morning,” Steven says to the man who just walked in, “what can I do for you this morning, Todd?”

And just like that, Magnus watches as Steven Waxmen falls into an easy persona. He chats to the man--Todd--about shelving units, then about door hinges. “Yes, I think that should do,” Todd agrees, and shakes Steven’s hand. A strong handshake, Magnus notices.

Then he sees Todd step right into the forge instead of leaving. “Good morning, Julia,” he says.

A very loud, very exasperated sigh. “Good morning, Todd.”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“How did you sleep?”

“Fine.”

Steven leans over to Magnus. “He’s been trying to woo Julia for  _ months. _ ”

“Any luck?” Magnus mutters.

Steven chuckles and sits back. “Watch.”

“Do you… have any plans for the day?” Todd asks.

“Things that don’t involve you.” A pointed  _ CLANG. _

“Well, if I proposed some plans that  _ did  _ involve me, would you--”

“No.”

“Not at  _ all? _ ” Todd’s shoulders slump a little.

“Go away.”

“Julia--”

“No!” A horseshoe comes flying at him and he barely manages to duck in time. It clangs against the banister of the staircase and clatters to the floor. “Every day you come in here and every day I give you the same answer! What makes you think,  _ Todd Gilliman,  _ that my answer will  _ ever  _ change! I’ll make your stupid hinges but after that, I never want to see your acne-riddled face again! Good  _ day!” _ Another horseshoe goes flying and misses by a few feet.

Todd, however, seems to get the point and flees the scene with a hasty “Thank you, Mr. Waxmen” thrown over his shoulder as he shoves the door open and escapes from Julia’s wrath.

As soon as Todd is out of sight, Magnus begins to laugh so hard he has to hold onto the counter to stand up, and tears stream down his face. “Does this… does this happen every day?” he asks breathlessly.

“Nearly,” Steven replies, his shoulders shaking with his own repressed laughter.

“Stop laughing!” Julia yells from the forge. “He’s an awful man; I had every right to do that!”

“I’m s-sorry,” Magnus chortles. “The look on his  _ face…. _ ”

“Who does he think he is?” Julia snarls. Magnus hears a series of very loud clangs, suggesting her throwing things, or perhaps just hitting them with her hammer. “Of all the conceited, egotistic, big-headed…”

Magnus giggles uncontrollably until there’s a crash and an actual  _ scream _ from the forge, at which point he stops abruptly and looks at Steven, who shrugs. “I suggest,” the older man says, “that you head out and see if you can start finding yourself a place of residence.”

“Yeah,” Magnus agrees, and bustles himself out the door before Julia can throw anything at him.

As he walks across the platform of Craftsman’s Corner, he can hear Julia shouting indiscernibly, and Steven attempting to placate whatever tantrum she seemed to be throwing. He grins before starting to laugh again, this time quietly to himself.

* * *

Once he walks through the scattered buildings of various wood-carvers, weavers, seamstresses, potters, and smiths and crosses the well-made wooden bridge over to Village Rock, Magnus feels as if today might be a great day. He strolls leisurely but confidently down the broad cobbled streets, watching people walk out onto their front steps or lean out of windows or drive through in wagons and greet each other as if they’re family--which, maybe they are, in a way, he supposes.

However, when the people see him, their conversations halt. All eyes turn to him and the street goes quiet. Then, like hundred of bugs lifting into flight, a buzzing of gossip threads its way across the network of buildings and the gazes upon him quickly turn hostile. Women grab their children and drag them indoors. Men’s hands stray towards their pockets, as if reaching for hidden weapons. A baby cries.

“Wait,” he tries to say as people shrink away from him, “I’m not--”

“Quiet, interloper!” a man’s voice, bitter with fear and hatred, shouts from somewhere to his left.

He stops in the middle of the street, looking pleadingly around, desperate for  _ somebody _ to welcome him. But the streets are nearly empty, and eyes stare at him from windows and doorways and alleys and he feels so  _ alone. _

Magnus stands in a sea of hatred and paranoia and he has no words. His confidence sucked out of him, he does nothing but stand, staring at the people who stare right back.

“Mama, who’s he?” a small voice asks from somewhere to Magnus’s right.

“An interloper, sweetheart. He’s a bad, bad man.” It’s a woman’s voice, low and frightened.

“He doesn’t look like a bad man.”

“Nobody looks like a bad person at first.”

Magnus dully registers this and a voice in his head says,  _ Wise words. _

Then there’s a shout from the woman and a gentle tugging at the hem of his shirt and he looks down and there’s a little girl. She’s tiny, probably no more than six years old, and her little brown face is scrunched up in confusion. Her wild black hair is just barely tamed into two pigtails that stick straight up. And her small, round hand is clutching at his shirt and he notices her mother, partially poised to run, but at the same time looking almost curious herself.

So he crouches down to her eye level and says, “Hello. I’m Magnus. What’s goin’ on, kiddo?”

“Mama says you’re a bad man, but I don’t think you’re bad.” She grins at him, and he notices she’s missing a tooth.

“No, I’m not a bad man,” he says, and he knows it’s his word against everyone’s paranoia but he’s gotta try, “I’m just lost and a little scared. See,” he taps his head, “my memory’s gone all wonky. I kinda woke up in the middle of the desert and had no idea how I’d gotten there.”

The people around him are leaning in now, listening to his story.

“All I could remember was this lady. She was….” He thinks. “Tall. She told me I had to come here. So I did.” He grins. “I didn’t get up here alone. An angel was sent to help me.”

The girl’s eyes go very wide. “An  _ angel? _ ”

“Yeah. An angel. So beautiful and very, very strong.” He smiles softly. “But she’s so far out of reach. You can’t even touch her.”

The girl giggles. “Like a ghost!”

He shakes his head at that. “Not quite.”

She stares at him for a moment before asking, “Do you like Raven’s Roost?”

He shrugs. “I think it’s very nice here.”

“It is!” the little girl exclaims. “My mommy lives here, and my daddy, and my brothers, and Mr Dirk, and--”

“Alright, Lili,” the child’s mother says, her voice still pitched with some worry but her body language less frightened. “Come along, now. I’m sure the man would like to continue his walk.”

“Okay!” Lili skips over to her mother’s side once more and waves. “Bye-bye, Mister Magnus!”

Magnus waves back as he straightens from his crouch and takes a step forward. The crowd doesn’t shrink back immediately, and after another moment of watching him, returns to its normal morning rituals, and Magnus returns to his walk. He hears his name mentioned in quiet conversations, and then in energetic expressions, and then in loud exclamations, and it spreads down the street before him and across intersections and into traffic and through windows and out of mouths and doors and wagons until the town knows his name and his story and he hasn’t been on this spire for more than fifteen minutes.

“Magnus!” people call to him. “Hail and well met!”

“Would you like to buy some bread?”

“How about a necklace to give to your angel?”

“My daughter is single!”

Magnus laughs and waves the offers off with a smile, observing the town and subtly looking for anywhere he might be able to live.

“Heya, you must be Magnus!” a man calls to him. “You’re new to town, right?”

Magnus turns, and he sees a portly, ruddy man with wide, watery eyes and a gigantic grin. He smiles back. “Yeah, I am. What’s up?”

“My name is Beauregarde Hemmingsway, but you can call me Bo. Am I right in assuming that you will be here for the long-term?”

Magnus nods. “I’ve got nowhere else to go, I guess.”

“Well, then, I’ve got an opportunity for you!” Bo’s grin somehow widens. “See, it just so happens that I have an apartment for rent, and you seem like a man in need! I can offer ya a deal, see.”

Magnus steps closer, and the man takes a step back at his eagerness. “I’m listening.”

“I can give you a one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment for--get this--thirty gp’s a month!” Bo crows proudly. “And you can have a whole week to get the downpayment to me, since I’m a generous guy and you seem like you don’t have the funds for an apartment at the moment, judging by your story.”

“Really?” Magnus says. “I’ll take it!”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Bo says. “If you have any questions, you can ask me any time.” He grins his huge grin and waves Magnus off. “Bye, now!”

“Bye!” When Magnus leaves Bo, his smile makes his face glow.

* * *

“I'm _ sick _ and  _ tired _ of  _ men! _ ” Julia shouts, still in the throes of her rage.

“Julia,” Steven sighs, by this point exhausted almost into submission, “throwing a fit about Todd isn't going to do anything except ruin your reputation. How about we sit down, get a drink of water, and talk about something different?”

“I don’t  _ want _ to talk about something different!”

“Julia. Be reasonable,” he begs.

Julia growls and kicks a wall, but gradually ceases her tantrum. The tension in the room, which has been tangible since she began her tirade, starts to disperse. Steven approaches her warily at first, just placing a hand on her shoulder, but relaxing and pulling her into his arms when she sniffles and leans wearily against his side. “I just want people to leave me alone and let me do my work,” she mumbles. “I'm tired of people trying to invade my life.”

“You know,” Steven smiles, “they won't be invading if you let them in.”

Julia sighs and puts her arms around her father. “I know,” she whispers. She looks up at Steven. “But I’m not gonna do anything with Todd. He’s a dick.”

Steven grins. “You’re just like your mother.” He kisses the top of her head. “I love you.”

She rests her cheek against his chest and closes her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.”

* * *

When the governor of Raven’s Roost resigned, there was a flurry of action. Nobody was sure who the new governor would be. Raven’s Roost had always been a simple town with simple people. None of its citizens felt fit to run it.

And that was when Kalen stepped up.

He’d been a citizen for years, a town staple, and he was far more educated than anyone else. “I believe,” he said, “that I was sent here for a reason.”

So beguiling was his smooth voice that the town went for it. His opponent, a man named Owen Kirel, never stood a chance. It was amazing they even needed to have an election.

Kalen stood for speeches, preaching about equality and solidarity, rallying people to his side, promising education to any and all, and swearing that their trade businesses would be more productive than ever before. Needless to say, this was so incredibly desirable that he won a landslide victory over Owen.

Women swooned at his graceful feet, babies laughed when they saw his perfect white smile, men strove to have his strong stature. He was everything they had ever wanted, and more. The sun shone down on Raven’s Roost, and they were happy.

And then, it happened. He raised taxes.

He raised them very high.

People who had never had to worry about finances before were suddenly forced to go on a budget. Some lost their homes. The buildings in town grew more dilapidated. Traders came and left having sold less goods.

Some people grew angry.

People like Steven and Julia Waxmen.

Almost immediately, Kalen held a speech outdoors, for all to hear. “I fear,” he said, “for the safety of our town. It seems that,” he paused, for dramatic effect, “ _ enemies _ are nearby. We must be vigilant, or they will attack us in the night.” Some people gasped.

“However,” he continued, “You have no need to be afraid. For I am setting up guards throughout the town, to keep everybody safe. They will be armed with swords and be dressed in a tunic with two ‘K’s in silver on the front. That is how you will know with whom you will be safe. But you must still be vigilant, I say. For there are those even in our midst who might be dangerous.

“There are those,” he said, “who speak with tongues of snakes. There are those who speak against me, against you, against Raven’s Roost. These people are just as much enemies as those who lurk outside. Be wary of who you let within our town, for their poisonous words might have, even now, infiltrated the minds of some of your own friends and family. Be vigilant, I say!”

The crowd cheered.

Steven and Julia did not.

* * *

Magnus returns to the Waxmens’ dwelling late that afternoon, just in time to hear somebody back in the kitchen. “I’m back,” he says to the building.

“Hello, Magnus,” Steven calls from the kitchen. “Find what you were looking for?”

Magnus’s face splits in a broad grin. “Hell yeah, I did!” he rejoices. “Got myself a great little apartment. Now all I need’s a job. I’ll be moving in and job-hunting tomorrow.”

“Excellent!” Steven says. “Julia and I are just in here making dinner. Make yourself comfortable!”

“Nah. Anything I can do to help?” Magnus steps into the room, observing Steven at the stove with some water on to boil and Julia at a table, cutting vegetables.

“You can do the onions,” Julia says, voice almost as sharp as the knife in her hand. She shoves the bulbs toward him.

_ Uh oh, _ Magnus thinks, but his mouth says, “Alright, that’s fine. Anything I can do to help.”

Steven shoots him a smile and hands Magnus a knife and a cutting board. “Get them as small as you can,” he says.

“Right-o,” Magnus replies, snapping jokingly into a salute before bending over the cutting board and starting to dice the onions.

Almost immediately, tears start streaming down his cheeks. He swears, sniffles, and wipes them off on the back of his wrist, but they don’t stop. “Gods,” he chokes as his vision blurs. He almost cuts off the tip of a finger with his knife and swears again, under his breath.

He hears muffled giggling, and is absolutely shocked to find the sound coming from Julia.

(He decides that he likes her  _ much _ better with a smile on her face.)

~~ (And maybe, just maybe, a part of him makes him want to make her smile like that forever and ever.) ~~

“Julia,” Steven scolds, “did you do that on purpose?”

“It’s funny,” she laughs. “Look at his f-face.”

Magnus tries to scowl, but ends up dissolving into laughter as well. “Oh, gods,” he manages. “This is the  _ worst. _ ”

Steven is the last one to start laughing, but eventually the kitchen is full of the sounds of merriment--and the sniffles of Magnus as he tries desperately to keep cutting the onions.

Outside, the sun starts to set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me???? Updating on time???? It's more likely than you'd think.  
> I think I'm going to get a handle on this updating schedule, and I'll try to have a chapter up once every 2 weeks or so.  
> Visit me on tumblr at themindofcc.tumblr.com to scream about TAZ with me!


	3. only fools rush in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus rushes in. A spy reports. Julia is saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wise men say only fools rush in  
> But I can't help falling in love with you  
> Elvis, "Can't Help Falling In Love"

Magnus needs a job.

Magnus has no idea what kind of job he should look for. What skills does he even have?

He crosses out “dog trainer” on his sloppily-written list. Not practical.

Magnus’s apartment is nice enough, but he still prefers the atmosphere of the Hammer and Tongs, which is why he now sits in a tiny family room beside the kitchen, deep in thought, holding a notepad in one hand and jotting ideas down while the noises of pounding hammers and rasping saws create a strangely comforting ambiance.

“You know,” Steven says, looking over Magnus’s shoulder at his list and startling the man into dropping his pen, “people pay a lot of money for strong men--such as yourself--to lift things.”

“Do they?” Magnus asks.

“Yessir. Why don’t you have a look around, see if anyone needs help?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll do that,” Magnus grins. “Thanks, Steven.”

* * *

It’s a hot, humid morning. Storm clouds loom in the distance, signalling their impending wrath. Magnus pulls his hair into a knot on top of his head to keep it off his neck as he walks, but the short wisps of hair at his hairline stick to his forehead as sweat beads on his face and trickles down his cheek. It’s almost unbearably hot, but the wind has begun to pick up by the time he crosses the bridge to The Roost, a livelier part of the town, providing a little relief.

The Roost, at this time of the morning, is full of people. The traders’ caravans are rolling in, shops and taverns are opening for the day, and people are out to buy and sell.

“Fresh bread!” somebody shouts.

“Flower bouquets!”

“Silver jewelry!”

“Lumber!”

“Stone!”

It’s a sea of barely organized chaos in front of Magnus. He stands at the end of the bridge and listens as traders hawk their wares and women shout greetings to each other. Somebody laughs, loud and shrill, and it somehow makes the whole scene even more homey.

A drop of rain splatters on the dusty rock just in front of his right foot. Then another, and another. The rain is light and cool, and the humidity instantly drops. Magnus inhales the sharp, earthy smell of petrichor and grins before squaring his shoulders and stepping into the crowd.

The noise is loud and clamorous, but not immediately overwhelming. People make way for the broad man as he wanders the cobbled streets, smiles at people, and searches for something to do. But as he searches, he discovers that everyone seems to have a rhythm. Everybody has help, everybody has friends, everybody handles themselves. Magnus sticks out like the five hundred and first jigsaw in a five hundred piece puzzle. He doesn’t have a place.

He sees a cart of lumber and two men arguing over it and goes over to help, but by the time he gets over there they’ve come to an agreement. One man borrows the other’s horse and the cart is pulled away.

Somebody struggles with a huge crate of potatoes, but as Magnus makes a beeline, somebody comes out from an alley and quickly steps in to assist, chatting merrily with the woman holding the crate as they place their arms under the box and help hold it up.

A sinking feeling in the pit of Magnus’s stomach makes him feel suddenly ill. He leans against the wall of a tavern, and is therefore accidentally in just the right place to hear two men outside the tavern in the middle of a very important conversation.

“Yeah,” one man says. His voice is high and reedy. “I need a new bouncer. Reggie quit last night after getting his wrist broken trying to break up that real bad fight.”

“I don’t know what to tell ya,” another man says in a hoarse voice. “Not that many ‘bouncer’ type guys here in ol’ Raven’s Roost.”

Magnus takes that as his cue, and steps into their line of sight.

“Ey! You!” the reedy-voiced man calls to Magnus. “You’re that Maggie fella from yesterday, right?”

“That’d be me.” He doesn’t bother to correct them about his name.

“How’d you feel about workin’ as a bouncer for my tavern? All ya gotta do is make sure nobody starts any trouble, and if they do, just toss ‘em out. You’ll get good pay, and a dinner, too. How’s that sound?” He offers Magnus a hopeful smile.

Magnus nods. “Hell yeah.”

The high-voiced man grins in relief. “Great. Wanna start now?”

Magnus looks around. “Sure! I don’t really have anything else to do.”

“Excellent! My name is Cyrus Beam, by the way.” He points to the sign above the tavern, which says,  _ Beam’s Inn. _ “All you gotta do is stand just inside the doorway, watch the patrons, and make sure nobody throws a punch or gets hurt.”

Magnus nods. “That sounds easy enough.”

The rain grows heavier. “Whoops,” Cyrus squeaks, “we should get inside. It’s only gonna get worse from here.”

The three men duck inside the tavern, which is comfortably warm and smells of bacon and bread and ale and people. A young woman sits in a corner, singing, accompanied by a man with a lute, and it takes Magnus a moment to realize:  _ that’s Julia. _

Her singing voice is like that of an angel, and it somehow provides the perfect overlay to the pattering rain outside. Her body language is relaxed: head tilted, hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed. Occasionally, one slender hand will reach up and brush a strand of her dark hair back from her cheek. It takes all his willpower to not stare at her.

“Ohhh, you see Julia. You don’t mess with Julia, my friend,” Cyrus says with a knowing elbow to Magnus’s side. “She has  _ vows. _ ”

Magnus frowns. “Vows?”

“Yeah. Won’t take nothin’ from nobody.” He leans in and whispers. “Throws things at everyone who tries to win her over.”

“Ah.” Magnus nods sagely, tries not to act disappointed.

“Yeah. But she sings here a lot, when she’s not doin’ work in her forge. Real good, she is.”

Magnus nods again, agreeing vacantly. He knows that Julia doesn’t like him. He knows that Julia doesn’t like  _ most _ people. So why does he feel so awful all of a sudden?

He shakes it off as nothing, and turns to the crowd inside the bar, keeping a watch on the morning patrons as rain and thunder create a muted ambiance outside the golden-lit tavern.

* * *

Singing is relaxing for Julia. It feels good to entertain. It feels good to let her hair down, literally and figuratively, sing along to the sounds of her friend Sol’s lute, and leave the stress of her forge behind for an hour or two.

The past couple of days have been  _ especially  _ stressful. Magnus has made her life  _ much _ more difficult than it usually is, which is an accomplishment in and of itself, considering how hard it’s been since her mother died.

So she goes into the  _ Beam _ and she sings two days after Magnus invaded her life. And it’s good, and it’s comfortable, and everything feels right. She’s able to lose herself in the music of Sol's lute and just relax.

Until Magnus walks into the  _ Beam _ beside Cyrus and looks directly at her.

She almost stops singing. Why is he here? What is he doing? Does he  _ work here _ now?

Her hands tremble in her lap.

She tries to ignore the way he looks at her.

It’s different than Todd.

So much different.

His eyes get wide and starstruck, bright and joyful. He looks like he’s about to break into a smile every time he sees her. When they’re in the same room he does his best to make conversation, and he doesn’t talk down to her, but he doesn’t praise her either.

He treats her like a  _ person. _

But, as these revelations strike her, she notices Cyrus say something to him, and Magnus’s face falls. He turns away from her, staring across the tavern, and she feels something inside her sink, too. Her voice falters for a brief moment.

_ You don’t want him here, _ she tells herself firmly, and her singing strengthens again.

* * *

“His name is Magnus Burnsides, sir,” the rotund man says nervously, wringing his hat in his hands and avoiding eye contact with the silver-haired man behind the desk. “He’s a brute of a man, to be sure, sir,” he adds, “it would take a lot of men to take him down.”

“Do not doubt our strength,” Kalen replies cooly, his voice slick with false comfort. “We will be sure to take care of this interloper.”

Beauregarde Hemmingsway nods frantically. “Thank you, sir. Good day, sir.” He backs out of the room.

Kalen grins triumphantly and sits back in his chair. Everything will be taken care of, all in good time.

* * *

A week and a half later, Magnus has a wallet of gp’s, an apartment, and a steady job. He’s slowly blending into the thrum and throng of a life in Raven’s Roost.

Magnus arrives at the tavern at 8 o’clock sharp, just when the tavern is opening. Cyrus grins when he sees Magnus and lets him in, greeting him with a stout “‘Ello, Maggie!”

Julia enters shortly after, with her lutist friend, and they set the atmosphere like they do nearly every morning. Magnus smiles and enjoys the soft, sweet music they provide.

Around eleven that morning, as per usual, Julia leaves, and a young man named Richand, Todd’s brother, takes her place. He carries a banjo and his long ginger hair is braided and tossed over one shoulder. Striking up a more lively tune, he sets the atmosphere as the noon meal is prepared.

Magnus tries to catch Julia’s eye as she leaves, but she avoids him quite pointedly. He can’t help but feel a little hurt. He’s been here for nearly two weeks, now, and she still barely speaks to him at all.

Although he’s surrounded by people, greeted by everyone, and known by all, Magnus feels lonely. It’s this simple--he can’t seem to make friends. People know his name, people know his story, but nobody  _ knows  _ him. He’s just a guy who showed up and talked to a little girl and got a job. That’s it: Magnus Burnsides, the guy who walked into Raven’s Roost.

That’s not who he wants to be.

Sometimes he chats with Steven Waxmen, who gives him woodcarving tips for the hobby he engages in in his free time. Steven always praises him on his skills, informs him on what he can improve, and teaches him new techniques.

Recently, though, Magnus has been avoiding Steven, because he has to avoid Julia. He doesn’t want her cold glares, her sniffs, her upturned nose, her quiet comments.

The toss of her head. The glint of her eyes. The clench of her fists.

_ Oh, shit. _ He’s still in too deep.

* * *

It’s been two weeks and four days since Magnus showed up. Julia sits in the  _ Beam _ that evening, drinking a mug of tea and chatting with her friend, Newt. Newt makes a comment about a man nearby who just spilled coffee into his beard and laughs, and Julia joins in.

“Sae, Jules,” Newt says suddenly, “how’s about that new lad here?”

This isn’t the first time they’ve brought this up, of course, but Julia is still startled by their sudden subject change. “Who, Magnus?” Julia asks, pretending that she isn’t affected by the question.

“Yeah, doofus, Magnus,” Newt grins. “Have ye no’ seen ‘im starin’ at ye from across the room e’ry day?”

Julia bites her lip. “He stares at me?”

“Yeah. More’n a little creepy, if yer askin’ me.”

Julia nods absently, her eyes now searching to find Magnus. Just as she finds him, her view is obstructed by a familiar person standing directly in her line of sight. “Hi, Julia,” Todd says.

* * *

When Magnus sees Todd Gilliman approach Julia, his first instinct is to run. He expects things to get loud, on Julia’s end. He expects shouting, things being thrown, people screaming.

What he doesn’t expect is Todd advancing on Julia, speaking quickly, and Julia beginning to back away. She has an expression on her face that’s all too familiar to him--the same expression she wore when she first saw Magnus.

Fear.

He’s already starting to move towards the table when he sees Todd shoot out a hand to grab Julia’s arm and hold her in place, still talking rapidly while Julia fights his grip.

Magnus sees red.

He’s not sure when he gets over to Julia’s table, but suddenly he’s there and he’s pulling Todd away from Julia and her friend is babbling in the background but he can’t hear anything but a ringing in his ears as he drags Todd outside.

Magnus is breathing hard, anger filling every square inch of his body and spilling from every pore, fists clenching in the fabric of Todd’s shirt as he lifts him clear off the ground. “Did you hurt her?” he snarls, right up close to Todd’s face.

The young man shakes his head frantically. “No. No, no, no, I didn’t, she’s fine! Put me down! Please!”

Todd is understandably terrified; Magnus can see it in his eyes. He decides to let him off with a warning and, glaring daggers straight into his face, he says, “Stay away from her,” and drops him, letting the man scamper away.

When he turns to go back into the  _ Beam, _ Julia is standing in the doorway. She stares at him with her large eyes that he can’t stop looking at and she says, “Hey, um. Thanks,” and she gives him a little half-smile that makes every nerve in his body tingle with delight.

“It was. Uh. It was no problem. Really.” He rubs at the back of his head and breaks eye contact. “He was being a jerk to you. He shouldn’t have. You know. Been doing that.” He looks up at her again. “Are you alright?”

The little laugh that escapes her is so endearing that he grins. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

They stand there awkwardly, looking at anything but each other, for several moments before Julia finally breaks the silence by saying, “Hey, uh, my friend probably wants me back in there. But. Um. Thanks again.”

“Yeah,” Magnus says, and nods, only half-hearing her as he lets her go back inside.

He stares after her long after she retreats to her table and her friend.

* * *

Julia is shaking. Newt has ordered her another cup of tea and is now running their hands through her hair as she tries to control her nerves.

“You’re okay now,” Newt says soothingly. “That Magnus guy took care o’ him for good. He’s not gonna bother you anymore.”

Julia nods, staring somewhere far away. “I know,” she says quietly. “I don’t know why I was so afraid of him,” she adds, a little more lucid as she catches up to her thoughts. “I know I could have taken him on my own.”

Newt smiles sympathetically. “Fear does strange things to people, ye ken,” they say. “Yer lucky yer friend Magnus saved ye, though. Todd had a nasty look aboot ‘im jus’ then.”

Julia heaves a sigh and nurses her tea, staring into the middle distance. “Magnus was… very angry,” she murmurs.

“Aye, he was,” Newt agrees, their heavily freckled face spreading into a wide grin. “Wonder why.”

* * *

“Julia?” Steven says as the door swings open, then shut. He peers into the front room from his workshop and smiles when he sees his daughter. “How was your evening with Newt?”

Julia shrugs, kicking off her shoes. “It was fine.”

Steven raises an eyebrow. “Just ‘fine’?”

“Yeah,” she answers absently. “Fine.”

“Alright, then.” He steps out from his workshop, dusting sawdust off of his clothing as he approaches his daughter. “So, what did you kids do?”

“Not much.” She shrugs again. “Talked. Drank some tea.”

“Sounds fun.” He nudges her. “You had fun, then?”

“Mm?” She looks up at him. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Lots.”

He frowns. “Julia, there’s something you’re not telling me. Or a lot of things.”

“No, no, no,” she insists, a little too weakly to be convincing. “Nothing happened.”

“Jul--”

“Nothing.  _ Happened. _ ” This time she says it fiercely. Her fists are clenched tightly at her sides and her face is flushed.

“Okay. Alright. Fine.” Steven takes a step back.

Julia heads for the stairs and as she places a foot on the first step, Steven adds quietly, “You can talk to me, you know.”

She pauses but doesn’t look at him, her dark hair shielding her face. “I know,” she says, and then disappears upstairs.

* * *

When Autumn Waxmen died, all of Raven’s Roost mourned. All trade, all activity, all of normal life just stopped when the accident happened.

It had been a normal, early spring day for everyone, except for the fact that Autumn could not be found anywhere in Raven’s Roost. Nobody paid any mind at first, until sundown came and there was no Autumn.

The town flew into a panic, the first real frantic flurry of action in decades. People began searching, calling her name, shining torches into dark corners, and going out to the edges of spires.

That’s how the body of Autumn Waxmen had been found--crumpled at the bottom of Craftsmen’s Corner. Small, sad, cold, broken.

It shook Raven’s Roost to its core.

A wake was held, of course, the festivities lasting all night. Drinks flowed, stories were told, people laughed, people cried.

And then it was over, and Autumn Waxmen was gone.

“She was very loved,” everyone said, as consolation. As if it would help ease the pain.

It didn’t, of course. Especially not for the Waxmens.

When Julia saw what the loss of her mother did to her father, how it had turned him into little more than a shell, she was afraid she was going to lose her other parent. He didn’t eat. He barely slept. He never worked. He sat in bed or on the doorstep all day, staring into the middle distance and smoking pipe after pipe of bitter tobacco. His body withered into little more than skin and bones, and that’s when Julia began to work in the forge.

She took over her father’s job in the Hammer and Tongs, working over fire and anvil as she perfected the skills she’d picked up from her days watching Steven at work. And she made a living.

She fed herself, she fed her father, she traded, she worked. Steven gradually, gradually, crept out of the shell he’d put himself into and grew healthier, stronger. He began to work again, but in carpentry--smithing had become Julia’s task. And while the work benefitted her father greatly, the effect it had on Julia was just as immense.

Hours wielding hammers and tongs, beating molten metal into a desired shape, gave Julia an outlet for her grief and anger and grounded her against the storm of emotions that swarmed in her mind.

And the Waxmens healed.

Mostly.

When Julia saw what happened to her father after the loss of his wife, she made a vow. She would never love anyone the way her father loved her mother out of fear that she might feel the same way, or somebody else would because of her.

Because, she said, nobody should have to feel such incredible agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop woop! A chapter way ahead of schedule!  
> You guys can check me out at themindofcc on tumblr to yell at me about TAZ or tag me in your art or w/e  
> sPEAKING OF ART @the-east-art on tumblr made some rEALLY CUTE ART FOR CHAPTER 2 so you can check out the art here: http://the-east-art.tumblr.com/post/165495329770/more-taz-stuff-and-a-scene-from-a-fic-called-how


	4. you forgave and i won't forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus accepts an offer. Julia is angry. An apology is given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So break my step  
> And relent  
> Well, you forgave and I won't forget  
> -Mumford and Sons, “I Will Wait”
> 
> Beep boop it's been forever

It’s morning almost two months later. The heat has become more bearable, the breeze a little brisker, and the storms less intense. Harvest is coming to Raven’s Roost.

“Morning, Steven,” Magnus says, pushing open the door to the Hammer and Tongs. The atmosphere, sharp and woody with the heavy punctuation of hammer strikes, immediately hits him as Steven looks up and smiles. “It’s been a little while,” he adds jokingly.

“Indeed it has,” Steven agrees, setting down his saw and offering Magnus a handshake. “Weeks, I would say.”

Magnus considers. “Oh, yeah, it has. I’ve been real busy with work lately, I’m one of only two bouncers at the  _ Beam. _ I don’t get much time off.”

“That’s probably a crime somewhere,” Steven chuckles. “But, no matter. You’re here to visit again.”

“I am,” Magnus says gleefully. “So, anything new happen?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steven replies with a grin, and whistles.

Magnus lets out a gigantic gasp and his eyes widen to the size of saucers as in trots a small brown puppy. “PUPPY,” Magnus says, instantly crouching down and offering a hand to the tiny creature. It yaps happily and lies right down in front of Magnus, who lets out an enraptured whimper before scratching it behind the ears. “Ohwhosagoodboy, whosagoodboy, issyou, issyou, youagoodboy,” he croons.

“His name is Remmington, but Julia refuses to call him anything other than ‘Remmy’,” Steven explains. “Or Boof.”

Magnus laughs. “Boof?”

“She insists that’s what he’ll sound like when he’s older.”

“Aww,” Magnus coos. “Are you gonna be a big boofer boy?”

The dog yips and Magnus bursts into tears, pulling it into his huge arms and babbling into its fur about how it’s a “good, good boy” while Steven looks on, laughing heartily at Magnus’s antics.

Finally, gasping and wiping away tears, Magnus gains control of himself. “Oh,” he wheezes, “I love him.”

“I’m glad.” Steven leans against the counter, his laughter fading into a comfortable quiet.

“So,” Magnus says after a moment, prompting a subject change, “how’s Julia been? I see her now and then at the  _ Beam _ but we don’t talk.”

“Oh,” Steven says, “she’s been alright. She spends whole days in her forge now.” He nods his head towards the noise of the hammer. “Hardly comes out these days.”

Magnus tightens his mouth.  _ That seems like something she’d do if she was trying to avoid someone, _ he thinks.  _ Wonder who it could be. _

“How have you been?” Steven asks, steering the conversation towards something more comfortable. “Getting on alright?”

Magnus nods. “I think I’ve finally started blending in here. I won’t quite call it ‘home’ yet, but…” He considers, a faint smile curving his lips. “It’s a good start, I’d say.”

Steven’s eyes brighten. “That’s wonderful.” He picks up his saw and returns to his work. “I’m sorry about this,” he apologizes, “Matthias needs a new bookshelf as soon as possible for his schoolroom.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Magnus insists. “It doesn’t bother me at all.” He picks up a small hunk of scrap wood from the floor of the workshop and turns it over and over in his hands before taking a small knife from his belt and casually shaving off small curls of wood.

Eyeing Magnus’s activity with interest, Steven says, “You should try carving along the grain. It’ll give it more motion. Make it look alive.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Magnus says, and tries it.

“There you are,” Steven says, “that’s it.” He smiles. “Do you see how moving with the grain creates a smoother image?”

“Yeah,” Magnus says, focusing intently on his work.

Under his large, calloused hands, a little figure soon takes shape. It’s an elephant, small and rough, a little lopsided, but honest and sturdy. “It’s not perfect,” Magnus says as he looks at the trinket, “but it’s the best I could do.”

“Don’t worry,” Steven assures, dropping the saw and smoothing his wood with sandpaper, “you’ll get better. I’m sure.”

Magnus grins. “Thanks, Mr. Waxmen.”

* * *

Weeks pass. Magnus tries to stop in at the Hammer and Tongs more often, hoping to glean more tips from Steven and perhaps see Julia again.

That’s another thing: Julia has stopped showing up to the  _ Beam _ altogether, and Magnus doesn’t know why.

“Morning, Steven,” Magnus calls.

“Hello, Magnus.” The reply comes from the kitchen. “Would you mind giving me some help? Mathilda--you may know her as Mrs Fairfax--showed up this morning with a gigantic box of apples. Her harvest is too abundant and she’s decided to torment everyone she knows with her goods.”

Magnus laughs and heads for the kitchen, where he sees Steven struggling to hold a massive crate of fruit. His eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s… a  _ lot _ of apples.”

“Indeed. Please help me.”

Magnus lifts the crate easily from Steven’s wiry arms. “Where do you want it?” he asks.

“Uh, just on the table. Julia and I will do something with them tomorrow.” Magnus obliges, plopping the box on the wooden surface with little difficulty and earning a grateful “Thank you” from Steven.

Steven leads the way back into the front room and Magnus snags an apple as he follows. “How have you been?” Steven asks, as is their normal ritual.

“I’m great,” Magnus replies, as usual. “Nothing much has happened lately…. Oh! I used that sanding technique that you told me about and it’s really working! Look at this.” Magnus reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small, hand-carved wooden duck.

“Magnus, this is excellent,” Steven praises, taking the trinket from Magnus’s hands and inspecting it. “The way you used the grain is remarkable--and look how smooth it is!” He rubs a thumb over its little beak. “Amazing.”

Magnus grins. “Thanks.”

Steven, still holding the duck, leans against the wall and says thoughtfully, “Say, Magnus. Have you ever had any professional training in the woodcarving trade?”

“No, sir.” Magnus shakes his head. “It’s just a hobby, really.”

Steven nods. “I understand. However, you could make a much better living as a woodcarver than as a tavern bouncer, with the right training. I just so happen to personally know the best woodcarver around, and he happens to be willing to take on an apprentice in his trade.” He looks up at Magnus and winks.

Magnus’s jaw hits the floor. “R-really? Mr. Waxmen, do you mean that?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Steven grins, reaching up to clap Magnus on the shoulder.

“Okay. Okay.” Magnus waves his hands speechlessly in the air for a moment. “Um. When would I start?”

“As soon as you’d like,” Steven says. “You wouldn’t have to work at the tavern anymore--you’d be getting wages working for me--and you’d get a spare room and hot meals from us as long as you’re training under me.”

“I. Uh. Wow.” Magnus rubs the back of his head. “This is… this is a  _ huge  _ opportunity. I think…” He pauses, weighs his many options. “I think I’m going to accept.”

Enter Julia.

“Daddy, you had no right to do this!”

Steven turns to the staircase where Julia stands halfway down, her eyes wild, her hands clenched around the banister. “It’s my house and my job,” Steven says quietly. “I think I have every right.”

“You know how I feel about this brute,” she snaps, and Magnus flinches at the steel in her voice--cold and sharp like a knife at his throat. “And now you’re going to make me  _ live with him? _ ”

“Julia,” Steven says, and Magnus can detect the same steely edge in the single word the craftsman utters.

“Don’t ‘Julia’ me,” she cries.

“I’m your father.”

“Yeah, well--” She splutters, fumbling for a retort to his simple statement. “--you’re not doing a very good job of it, are you?” Then she turns and vanishes down the narrow hallway.

Steven curses under his breath. “I really did not think that through,” he mutters.

“Do you… want me to leave for a bit?”

Steven sighs. “That would… be ideal, yes. Just until I can talk some sense into my daughter.”

Magnus nods and turns to leave, but stops on the threshold. “It’s not your fault,” he says, “and I think you’re doing a pretty good job.” Then he leaves.

* * *

“Julia, please.”

She doesn’t turn and face him, instead opting to remain sitting on her bed with her back to her father.

“Julia, think about it. It’s a huge opportunity for him, for our business--”

“But how is it a good opportunity for me?” she says quietly, and he can tell by her voice that she’s been crying. “He’s just like all the other men here, Dad. I  _ hate  _ him.”

“You don’t even know him,” Steven argues.

“I know his type.” She sighs. “He likes to think he’s being nice but everything he does just makes him worse.”

Steven hesitates, then sits down on the edge of her bed and puts a hand on her arm. “Julia. You have to take some time to know somebody before determining what they are like.”

“I don’t want to,” she mumbles. “I just want things to be normal.”

“Julia, since when have things here  _ ever _ been normal?”

He lets a smile creep onto his face and into his voice, trying to coax a similar expression out of his daughter, but to no avail. Her mournful expression remains stubbornly on her face as she says, “When Mom was here things were normal.”

Oh.

“So is that what this is about?” Steven asks.

“Yes, of course it is,” she snaps, suddenly venomous. “Haven’t you seen the way he  _ looks _ at me?”

Yes, he has. He knows that expression, has seen it on the faces of many young people.

“It could be nothing,” he suggests. “These things fade with time.”

She sighs again and finally, finally leans back into his touch, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think so,” she says quietly. “I don’t think so.”

* * *

Magnus throws a rock as hard as he can over the cliff’s edge. It’s not the first one he’s thrown today, and it won’t be the last. Proving this, he hefts another stone before hurling it from the spiretop. It sails a fair distance before landing with a tiny puff of dust on the rocky terrain below.

He’s swearing under his breath. Cursing himself, cursing Julia, cursing stubborn beautiful young women in general, cursing woodcarvers. Nothing makes sense and everything is painful.

The word ‘brute’ rings in his mind like the tolling of a cracked bell--sharp, cold, tense, ugly. It hurts his ears as he hears Julia saying it over and over, like a sort of mantra that bites and stings its way into his heart and beats maliciously with every pulse of blood through his body.

He lifts another rock and, as he sends it singing through the air, lets out a wild yell that rips itself from his throat but is caught by a gust of autumn wind and is just blown back in his face like a mockery of his own pain.

“Magnus!”

He turns to see who it is. “What?” he snaps irritably, before immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. Muffled, he exclaims, “ _ Julia? _ ”

There she stands, strong and windswept, staring at him with her hands clenched at her sides. Her brown eyes are set and steady, watching him with unshakable focus. Both just stand there and stare at each other for what feels like an eternity as a breeze gusts around them and whips up their hair and clothing before finally, almost imperceptibly, she gives him a nod.

“I… I can stay, then?” Magnus asks her, careful to keep his tone calm.

“Mm. But don’t think I’m going to like it.”

“I, uh. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She pauses. “Seriously. Don’t say anything about this, ever, or I will gut you.”

He cringes. “I believe you.”

At that, her mouth curls into a thin smile. “Get back in there,” she says, jerking a thumb towards the Hammer and Tongs. “My dad wants to talk business with you.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.” He walks past her, giving her a wide and wary berth as he heads back, leaving her to stare off towards the horizon.

* * *

If there’s one thing Magnus absolutely  _ hates, _ it’s tension.

And there’s a lot of it in the Waxmen household.

Ever since he went and got himself apprenticed to Steven, the Hammer and Tongs has been full of shouting and anger between Julia and her father, while Magnus does his best to just keep working on refining his skills.

“I don’t  _ want _ to do the shopping today!”

“I’m not coming out of my room!”

“Reasonable?  _ Reasonable? _ You left ‘reasonable’ behind last week!”

(Queue door slam.)

(Enter Steven at the top of the staircase, looking more exhausted with every passing day.)

Steven always emerges from the battleground weary and quiet, his shoulders slumped in what Magnus recognizes as defeat. When he does, Magnus does his best to cheer his master up, cracking jokes or telling funny stories of what he’s heard or seen in town recently.

But as the days pass, the fights get worse. Julia gets angrier. Steven grows wearier (and thinner? Magnus could have sworn Steven used to have some pudge around his waist). The atmosphere grows tenser. And Magnus?

Well. Magnus just grows more and more tired of all their  _ bullshit. _

To be quite honest? It’s driving him bonkers. This was  _ not _ what he signed up for when he agreed to be an apprentice. What  _ was _ it with this family?

He decides that somebody’s gotta do something about it. And that somebody was….

...probably going to have to be him.

Shit.

* * *

It’s been two weeks since Magnus moved back in with the Waxmens and the fight that’s going on in the kitchen is legendary. It outshines the historical battles and the heroic adventures. It’s big, it’s bad, and if somebody doesn’t do something, there will be bloodshed.

So Magnus does what he does best.

“Hey, everyone,” he says casually, strolling right into the line of fire. “Could we maybe shut the fuck up for a second?”

Miraculously, it works.

Or, at least, it makes them stop shouting for a moment and stare open-mouthed at him, gazes a mix of extreme offense and total relief.

“Hi, guys,” Magnus continues, and the wide grin on his face is straining his hairy cheeks. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure people all the way out at the Stillwater Sea can hear you.”

Julia and Steven snap their mouths closed.

“I really don’t want to be rude.” Magnus holds out his hands palms-up in a show of peace. “I just wanna tell you how  _ I  _ feel about this arrangement right now. How does that sound?” He doesn’t wait for them to answer. “Great.” He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Frankly. Guys.  _ Guys. _ I love you both. I am eternally grateful to you for saving my life and for giving me a home. Without you, I’d be dead, probably.  _ But. _ ” Another deep breath. “If you guys don’t stop fighting, I’m going to  _ fling myself from Central Spire. _ ”

Julia’s eyes go very, very wide.

“Oh,” Steven says.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Magnus says, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels, “I’m going to go on a walk and you two will sort out your problems like civilized human beings and not three-year-olds when Tommy broke your favorite dolly. Bye.” He turns on his heel and exits the room, then the building, leaving the father-daughter duo behind to hopefully sort things out.

But this leaves Magnus alone and pretty damn bored.

So he sits at the edge of the spire, legs dangling off the side, and starts carving.

It starts rough, jagged, like most carvings do. It’s not pretty, by any stretch of the word. But it’s honest and sturdy and there, cupped in his hand as he gently, gently lets the layers of wood curl up against his knife and fall to the dusty ground beneath him.

It’s maybe a couple hours later when he hears a noise behind him. He doesn’t look around. The person hesitates, their footsteps faltering, before there’s a motion and, beside him, there’s Julia.

She doesn’t look at him, instead sitting leaned forward, hands in her lap and eyes far away, past the horizon. Her loose hair is caught on a breeze and blows into her face and she absently brushes it away from her eyes. Magnus pretends not to notice its scent.

They don’t speak for a long, long while.

“You know,” Julia says, “I don’t think I ever actually hated you.”

“Mmh.”

“Did you think I could?”

“I didn’t put it past you. You’re capable of a lot of things.”

“Nobody’s capable of hating Magnus Burnsides.”

He chuckles a little at that. “You’d be surprised, Julia.”

They’re quiet again.

“I’m… sorry,” she says.

“I know.”

Quiet. Nothing but breeze and the occasional caw of a raven.

“So…”

“So.”

Magnus shaves off another curl of wood. Julia fidgets with her hands.

“This… won’t happen again.”

“Good. Do you know how fucking tiring it was for me? And I wasn’t even shouting at the top of my lungs all day, every day.” Magnus grins, lopsided and honest. It makes Julia smile, too, albeit a bit weakly, but he counts that a victory.

“I wanted to kill you a few times,” she says. “I don’t think it was directed at you, though.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was… scared.”

“Of me?”

“You’re well over six foot, so muscular you could probably bench two horses, and you can pull off sideburns. Hell yeah I was afraid.”

“In your defense, though,” he laughs, “you’re pretty damn strong yourself.”

She looks away modestly. “I guess.”

“No, you are! You’ve got a wicked arm with a hammer,” he insists. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more skilled smith than you.”

“I, um. Thanks.”

“I wonder if you could best me in a strength contest,” he muses, pretending to be talking to himself.

“Oh, I doubt it,” she laughs, and she’s got this adorable snort he doesn’t think he’s noticed before. “You could easily bench at least two of me.”

“I don’t know, it’s been an awful while since I’ve exercised these bad boys,” Magnus confides, flexing a bit. “I don’t think they’re made of anything other than your father’s pot-pie at this point.”

Julia grins. “In that case, I’ll take you up on that contest.”

“Hell yeah.”

He  _ loves _ that smile on her.


	5. some moments last forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets it bad. People begin to catch on. Julia wins a contest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snakes in the grass beneath our feet, rain in the clouds above  
> Some moments last forever, but some flare up with love love love  
> The Mountain Goats, “Love Love Love”

_ Day 1 _

“Morning, Magnus.”

“Morning, Julia.”

Julia smiles tightly at Magnus, who stands with his hands awkwardly fidgeting at his sides. “How’d you sleep?” she asks.

“Uh. Fine. You?”

“Fine.” She looks at the floor, then at him. “I’m gonna… get something to eat.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you do that.”

She watches Magnus out of the corner of her eye as she grabs an egg from the basket on the windowsill--a present from the Gillimans--and sets about frying the yolk in a pan. The man doesn’t move from his spot.

“Are you… hungry?” she prompts. The silence is a little too loud for her.

“No--I mean, yeah. Yeah. I’m gonna… just… get myself something. To eat.”

She stifles a laugh as Magnus, more awkward than she’s seen him in a while, reaches into the refrigerator and grabs the milk before puttering to a cupboard and snagging some Fantasy Cheerios. He dumps them into a bowl--milk first, then cereal--and commences eating.

The crunching of the cereal is way too loud in the quiet kitchen for Julia, who winces. “You put the milk in before the cereal?”

“‘S the only way to eat it,” he replies, mouth half-full.

She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t think that’s how cereal works.”

“Sure it is. What, you want to put the cereal in first? Then it gets soggy faster. Not in Magnus’s book.”

She grins. “It’s the only way to eat Fantasy Cheerios.”

“You disgust me.”

“No, you.”

He laughs, and the tension in the air dissipates.  _ It’s so easy, _ she thinks.

* * *

_ Day 2 _

“Dad, I’m going out,” Julia calls, one foot out the door of the workshop.

“Where are you going?” Steven asks. He sets down his tools and shoots an apologetic look at Magnus, who shrugs.

“Thought I’d go see how Su’s doing since he broke his leg the other day.”

“Alright. Could you also stop on the way back and get some bread from Will and Jan?”

“Sure thing.”

“Oh, hey,” Magnus pipes up. “While you’re out--”

“Ah-ah,” Julia interrupts. “Is this something you need?”

Magnus frowns indignantly. “Yeah.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Uh, could you pick up a Fantasy Hershey’s bar for me?”

“You said you needed it!”

“Yeah, well, I do. I’m hungry.”

Julia bursts out laughing. “Alright, fine. I’ll get you a chocolate bar. But only because you asked so nicely.”

Magnus grins and pumps his fist. “Nice! Thanks, Julia.”

* * *

_ Day 3 _

Magnus leans on the doorframe to Julia’s smithery. “Hi, Jules.”

She looks up, her eyes narrowed. “Hi, Magnus.”

He immediately looks apologetic. “Can I--can I call you Jules?”

Setting down her hammer beside the anvil, she squints at him for another moment before nodding. “Sure…  _ Maggie. _ ”

He cringes. “Ugh, no. Not Maggie. Anything but Maggie.”

“Alright… ‘Mags’, then. No take-backs.”

Magnus mulls it over. “Alright. Mags is cool.”

She grins. “Cool.” Picking up a pair of tongs, she goes to the fire and fishes out a long metal rod. “Did you want something?” she asks as she puts the red-hot rod on the anvil and hefts her hammer.

“Nah,” he says. “Just like watching you work.”

“Oh, really?” she grins.

“Yeah.”

“Then… enjoy the show, I guess.” And she begins to hammer out the metal into a blade.

Magnus flexes his arms, trying to compare her biceps to his. He frowns and looks again. Is she… is she buffer than he is?

“Hey, Jules,” he says casually. “How much can you bench?”

She stops hammering for a moment, brushing the loose hair from her eyes. “Hmm. I’ve never really tried benching before. Probably about 75, though. Maybe 80.”

Magnus sighs happily. “I’ve got you at 120,” he says, disguising his relief with a note of competition.

“If you say so,” she says, and returns to her work.

Magnus definitely enjoys the show.

* * *

_ Day 4 _

“So, Magnus, what are you making today? No, wait, let me guess--a duck.”

“Julia, honestly, do you really think my creative genius is limited only to wooden ducks?”

“You have the intelligence of one.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it, freckles.”

“I will when you stop calling me that, sideburns.”

_ CLANG! CLANG! _

“I’ve been working on the rail-road,” Magnus sings, just loud enough for Julia to hear.

“Shut up,” she says, and her voice is full of laughter.

* * *

_ Day 6 _

Today is just another day at the Hammer and Tongs. Julia’s ready for another day of banter and laughter and comfortable ease that she and Magnus are used to now.

What she’s not ready for is the surge of emotion she gets when she sees Magnus and hears him say her name.

“Morning, Jules.”

“Morning, Magnus,” she says, and smiles at him.

He grins back at her. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.” She cuts a thick slice off of a loaf of bread and spreads some butter across it. “You?”

“Wonderful. Carrying a bunch of lumber all the way from the Roost really does wonders to your sleep cycles,” he jokes.

She laughs, as always, and she’s amazed to hear how easy it is to laugh at his jokes.

Standing close to her, Magnus cuts two slices off of the same loaf of bread and spreads huge globs of apple butter across them. She watches as he wolfs both slices down in a few bites.

“How do you have such a huge appetite all the time?” she asks him, mouth half full of her own breakfast. “I mean, I work all day in a  _ forge _ and I don’t eat as much as you do.”

Magnus shrugs. “I don’t know. Never really thought about it before. It’s just how I always eat.” He grins and flexes his arms a little. “Must be because of these bad boys.”

She returns his expression, shaking her head a little. “You’re an enigma, Magnus Burnsides.”

When he laughs, she tries to push down that rising warm feeling she gets every time she sees his lopsided smile.

She fails.

* * *

Magnus is in love.

It’s bad.

It’s really, really bad.

The feelings have been there for a while--since he arrived, actually--but now it’s almost unbearable. The past few days have been pure torment, because now, every day, he gets to hear her laugh, see her smile, watch her move. Everything is so purely  _ Julia _ , it’s entirely overwhelming sometimes.

Magnus is in love.

Sometimes he catches himself staring at her. At her anvil, at the kitchen counter, at the table, on the streets, wherever she is, she is beautiful and she stands out against the everyday environment of Raven’s Roost. Everything she does--hell, everything she  _ is _ is so enrapturing that the humble woodcarver finds it hard for him to look away.

Magnus Burnsides is in love, and it hurts, and it’s perfect.

* * *

That evening, Magnus walks into the small family room to see Julia curled up on the big green armchair by the window. “Hi,” he says, throwing himself onto the beige sofa on the wall adjacent to Julia. “What’re you reading?”

“ _ Lord of Song, _ ” she replies without looking up.

“Cool, cool,” Magnus says.

Silence. A cool breeze blows through the half-open window, rustling the blue gingham curtains.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s really complicated.”

“Oh.”

She bites her lip before continuing. “It’s about this kid named Aron who’s entrusted with this song, right? And he’s gotta carry it across the world and sing it to the Tree of Life. But the bad guy, Arkham? He doesn’t want the kid to get it there. So he sends his minions after the kid to stop him. And basically, there’s a lot of, uh, fighting, and emotion, and the kid gets scared a lot. But his friend, Simon, comes with him and helps him. ‘Cause he’s this big strong guy and he fights off the minions, and keeps Aron’s spirits up ‘cause he’s really funny, too.”

Magnus smiles, listening raptly to Julia’s summary. “Sounds like a really good story,” he says. “Does it have a happy ending?”

Julia nods, smiling a little sheepishly. “It’s my first time reading this one, but I always read the last chapter first, so I know if it’s going to have a happy ending.”

“That’s… really cool,” he says, and his grin widens. “That’s super cool, Jules.”

Her smile deepens, and Magnus makes sure to memorize her dimples.

* * *

The next day happens to be a rather important day. It’s a harvest festival of sorts, Magnus gathers, and the entire town is gathering on the Roost for food, friends, and festivities.

He does  _ not _ want to go.

Despite Magnus’s big size and bigger personality, he hates crowds.  _ Hates _ them. All those people, all that noise--it drives him up the wall.

Julia won’t hear it. 

The morning of, she taps on his door and says, “Magnus, Dad wants to let you know that the Hammer and Tongs is going to have a booth at the Harvest Fest today and that you should come.”

“I’m not going.”

A pause. “Yeah, you are.”

“Hmm. No, I’m not.”

“Mmm, yeah, you are.”

With no warning, Julia bursts into Magnus’s room and drags him out of bed. “Come on, lazybones, everyone’s gonna be there.”

“That’s why I don’t wanna go.”

“That’s why you  _ have  _ to go!”

Magnus scowls.

“...Please?”

Oh, jeez. He can’t resist it when she looks at him like that.

“Okay, fine,” he grumbles, “but only because Julia Waxmen said ‘please’ to  _ me. _ ”

“Great!” she beams. “Now get dressed, we’re leaving ten minutes ago!” And with that, she leaves his room.

Magnus sits on the edge of his bed for a minute before sighing and pulling out a nice red tunic and dressing himself. He, unfortunately, would do anything for Julia Waxmen.

* * *

The festival is, in a word, loud. The noises are loud and the colors are louder. People shout and clap and laugh as troupes of bards and other travelling minstrels entertain with music, acrobatics, and comedic antics. Scents of baked goods, roasted meats, pastries, vegetables, and people all clash in a dizzying cacophony of sensory haze that makes Magnus’s eyes blur.

Magnus hates crowds.

But Magnus loves Julia.

He loves her more than he probably should; they’ve been on good terms for barely a week and in a moment things could crash and burn but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t care.

Julia chatters to Magnus as they walk through the throngs of happy people, pointing out pretty trinkets and old friends of hers. He listens, enraptured, as she describes the things that she loves. He could probably listen to her talking forever.

“Newt!” she exclaims, and pulls Magnus towards a gangly, ginger person with wide green eyes and large paint-splatters of freckles across their cheeks. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Jules,” Newt replies, eyeing Magnus. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m great. This is Magnus,” Julia beams, shoving him forward.

“Hel- _ lo, _ ” Newt says, raising an eyebrow with a sly smile. “I’m Nigel, but everyone here calls me Newt.”

“Oh. Uh, hi. I’m Magnus Burnsides, I--”

“Oh, I know,” Newt says with a grin. “You’re the man who fell from the sky.”

“The man who--”

“There are stories,” Julia whispers to Magnus.

“So,” Newt says, drawing out the vowel. “I heard Maggie here was living with you.”

Magnus’s eyes widen and Julia’s face flushes. “Um okay thanks for the conversation Newt but we really must be going-- _ go go go, _ ” Julia says, hissing at Magnus to move as she shoves him past Newt and into the crowd.

The pair don’t speak again for a good five minutes.

Eventually, however, they lapse back into their comfortable conversation. “So how’s your woodcarving going?” Julia asks.

“Mmm. I’m having problems with symmetry,” Magnus replies. “Straight lines are not quite my strength.”

“I remember back when I couldn’t curve horseshoes; they used to always have points instead of curves,” Julia says. “It was… rough.”

“But you improved,” Magnus says.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “And so will you.”

She pauses. “Is that… Simon’s Hornpipe?” she says. “I love that song!”

Julia suddenly grabs Magnus’s hand and drags him towards an open square filled with music. In the square, people dance.

It’s an intricate spiral of grace and trust these people create, switching from one partner to the other and drifting from corner to corner in a well-rehearsed choreography.

“No,” Magnus says. “No, no, no.”

Julia looks up at him, into his eyes.

“Yes,” she grins, and pulls him in.

The next hour is a blur of motion. The music might be a little enchanted, because Magnus, with two left feet, is almost immediately moving with the spiral and the crowd. Woman after woman breezes past him, and Julia is somewhere out there.

And then she’s passed to him once more and they’re dancing and she’s so close, weaving around him in a dizzying, intoxicating pattern, and the smile on her face is so radiant that Magnus feels himself melting from her warmth and brightness.

When the music ends, she is in his arms.

But the spell ends with the music and their heads clear, and when they do, Julia steps back, out of his hands, and, waving and saying something about Mrs. Fairfax, disappears into the crowd.

And now Magnus is alone.

What does he do now?

“Whoooo can beat the strong man?” somebody hollers across the crowd.

Oh. That sounds good.

Magnus pushes through the herds of people and emerges within a small cleared-out space where a table stands. Seated at this table is a man of rather large proportion. His muscles bulge from his arms and his chest and his neck ripples as he scans the crowd. Beside him stands a smaller man, moustached and rather corpulent, hands poised on hips, daring someone from the crowd to step forward.

Accepting the challenge, Magnus escapes the throngs and steps forward, into the cleared area. “I think I can.”

“Take a seat, take a seat,” the pudgy man says, swaggering up to usher Magnus into the chair opposite the ‘strong man’. “Let’s see if you can take Omme here in a good, old-fashioned arm-wrestling game.”

_ Oho, _ Magnus thinks.  _ He’s going down. _

Omme glowers, eyes narrowed under huge brows, as he slams an arm on the table. Not to be outdone, Magnus does the same.

It has less of an effect.

The crowd boos.

The two men lock hands. It’s a battle not only of physical strength but of mental power, too. Their eyes stay trained on each other’s, sweat beads on their faces, their muscles ripple and strain as the advantage sways--Magnus. Omme. Magnus. Omme. Magnus.

_ WHAM. _

Omme stares in shock at his hand. The back is pressed flat against the table, pinned firmly under Magnus’s.

“Hell yeah,” Magnus mutters, and lets go.

“We have a new strong man!” the moustached man yells, grabbing Magnus’s other hand and raising it high as Omme strides away, face fixed in a deep scowl.

“Come on,” Magnus shouts, “who can take me?”

* * *

“Hello, Matilda,” Julia says, leaning on the counter of the produce stand advertising ‘Fairfax Orchard Apples’. “How have you and Frank been?”

“Oh, I’ve been just fine, dear,” the older woman says, her cheeks dimpling. “Frank’s still recovering from his fall from one of our trees the other day, but the doctor’s certain he’ll be back up and picking apples in no time.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Julia smiles.

“It absolutely is, praise the gods.” Mrs Fairfax leans forward on her counter with a rather sly look on her sweet old face. “And how is that young man who’s living with you?”

“Young ma--you mean Magnus?” Julia shrugs. “He’s alright, I guess.”

Mrs Fairfax leans in even further. “It’s alright, dear, you can tell me what the two of you get up to. I won’t tell a soul.”

Julia’s brow furrows, and then her eyes go very wide as she understands the implications. “Oh--oh, no, Mrs Fairfax, no, that’s not--he’s not--we’re--”

Matilda laughs. “Of course you’re not, dear.” She looks around before whispering conspiratorially to the girl, “But we all know that’s what you two would  _ like _ to be doing.”

Julia feels all the blood rush to her face. “Mrs Fairfax, I do not feel comfortable discussing the implications of your statements….”

She trails off as her ears pick up on something. What is it? A sound, a pattern, something that’s just masked by the chatter of the crowd and the festive music. Is it… shouting? No--chanting.

_ Mag-nus. Mag-nus. Mag-nus. Mag-nus. _

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Fairfax,” Julia apologizes distractedly. “I really have to go. Something’s… something’s come up. I’ll talk to you later bye.”

And Julia runs.

* * *

Magnus slams the three arms down on the table and puts his free hand up to his mouth in a mock yawn. “Child’s play,” he says boredly.

The group of men who decided to challenge him together slink away, muttering something about ‘dirty cheaters’.

Magnus is still laughing when the next opponent sits down at the table. “Ready to lose to the great Mag--”

He stops.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Julia returns with a smug grin, and offers her hand to him.

Magnus blinks. Then, his face breaks into a determined, challenging grin. “You sure, Jules?” he asks her. “I’m undefeated so far.”

“Bring it, sideburns,” she replies.

He grabs her hand and the battle begins.

Julia’s brow furrows and her shoulders hunch. Biceps bulge. Veins pop from sweat-beaded temples. Julia stares directly into Magnus’s bright, bright blue eyes.

And in a surge of courage and adrenaline, she stands and kisses him, full on the mouth.

_ WHAM! _

Magnus’s mouth falls open. His hand is pressed flat on the table under Julia’s. “You--you cheated!” he yells, shocked far beyond disbelief.

“I had this advantage from the start,” she counters with a smile, and then--

Julia bolts.

She doesn’t hear the crowd’s mad applause.

* * *

Magnus can’t find Julia all evening. When he returns home late that night, he sees a light is on in her bedroom but when he knocks, there’s no answer.

The next morning is the same way.

Dammit, what’s wrong with him?

“I’ll be back in a little bit, Mr Waxmen,” he says to Steven. “I need to go on a walk.”

“Take your time, Magnus,” Steven smiles, not sensing Magnus’s distress. “Your skills are so improved that soon I won’t have much to teach you. Enjoy yourself.”

Magnus doesn’t answer, just closes the door a little harder than he was perhaps intending.

His walk carries him into town, where people are milling about, much subdued from the full day of festivities the day before.

But there’s something different--something off. Magnus hears whispers in the crowds.

“Did you hear--?”

“Something’s happened--”

“Last night they--”

“Patched ‘im up, though--”

“Didn’t do nothin’ wrong--”

“Why are they even here--”

He picks up the story pretty quickly: the night before, a man by the name of Saro was injured by one of the town guards. The wound was not particularly grievous, but Saro was unconscious when he was found by his husband. Saro claims that he does not know why the guard attacked him.

All in all, Magnus thinks, a  _ very _ interesting story.

That’s not all, though. Kalen seems to have clenched his fist further. Now even the trade wagons have to go through security measures and intense searches before entering town, and nobody is happy about that, thank  _ you _ .

Magnus has gained some rather strong opinions about the governor. None of them are good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I made up Julia's book btw, it's like Lord of the Rings except way cooler and much more gay)  
> The story's nearly halfway done! I'm so excited to get to the Main Plots of the story. Come visit me at themindofcc.tumblr.com to yell about the new TAZ storyline with me :3


	6. where was my fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months go by. Fall leaves and winter arrives. Magnus learns a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But tell me now, where was my fault   
> In loving you with my whole heart   
> Mumford and Sons, “White Blank Page”
> 
> Sorry this chapter is a little late!

Magnus yawns, sits up, stretches. His back pops in about five different places, the discs shifting as he bends left, then right, then back, then forward. He grunts with each resounding crack.

Standing, he shuffles to the window and pulls open his curtains, letting the early morning sunlight fling itself across the hardwood floors in its excitement to get into his room. Its warmth sings on his cheeks and he smiles.

Looking through the panes of the window, he sees the seamstress’s building nearby opening for the day. Hailey Talibax, a pale young woman some people swear to be a half-elf, pushes open the shutters to display some dress forms wearing gowns in various stages of completion while her sister, Bree, sweeps the front steps in preparation of customers. Magnus waves at the women even though they can’t see him.

After another moment taken to appreciate the rising sun, Magnus dresses, ties back his hair, and descends to the main level of the Hammer and Tongs. “Morning, Steven, Jules,” he says.

“Julia isn’t here,” Steven calls from his workshop.

“Do you know where she is?” Magnus asks, heading for the kitchen.

“I think she said she was going to the  _ Beam. _ ”

“Cool. She hasn’t sung there in a while.”

“Mmm. Magnus, come here.”

“Just a sec.” Magnus fixes himself a bowl of Fantasy Cheerios and, munching on them, he enters Steven’s workshop. “What’s up?”

Steven sets down his saw and smiles at Magnus. “I think you’re ready to start moving on to bigger projects.”

Magnus almost drops his bowl. “I--what?”

“You heard me. How’d you like to make a bookshelf? Or--”

“A chair,” Magnus says. “I wanna make some really baller chairs.”

Steven chuckles. “Alright. You can make a chair. Now, Magnus, you have to understand, your first chairs aren’t going to be top quality. You’ll get there eventually, but for now please keep an open mind with your skills.”

“Of course, Steven,” Magnus grins, and shoves the last spoonful of Fantasy Cheerios into his mouth with a soggy  _ crumpf _ .

The two men get to work. Steven instructs Magnus on the best kind of wood to use, then on the measurements, but he lets Magnus do the crafting.

The project takes all day. Magnus painstakingly measures, drills, saws, trims, shaves, sands, nails, glues, and paints under Steven’s watching eye.

“The hardest part,” Steven says as Magnus bustles around the workshop, “is the seat. You want to get it as symmetrical as possible, and as comfortable as you can. Nobody wants to sit on a completely flat surface, remember that.”

So Magnus sands some more, paints, glues. He stands back and holds his hands up to it, measuring with his eyes and fingers.

He squints.

He squints harder.

The lean doesn’t go away. “Shit,” he hisses, and, grabbing some tools, sets about adjusting the legs, grumbling while he works.

“It’s alright,” Steven says, sensing his apprentice’s frustration, “don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“It’s not alright,” Magnus mutters. “Gotta be perfect.”

Steven decides not to argue anymore.

In the end, the chair turns out alright. It’s not great, and it’s definitely not perfect--the curve of the seat could use some work and the rails on the chair back aren’t even--but it’s pretty comfortable and it has a great color to its finish.

Magnus stands back with Steven to appreciate his hard work. “It’s a good start,” he says. “I can’t wait to get better.”

Steven flashes a smile at Magnus. “That’s exactly what I like to hear.”

* * *

Days pass. Magnus wakes up every morning with a hopeful smile, calls out ‘good morning’ to Steven and Julia, and is told every day that Julia isn’t home.

It starts to wear on him. He feels lonelier, laughs less often, and smiles less broadly. His work ethic slips a little. Occasionally he’ll zone out completely in the middle of carving something and only when Steven calls his name will Magnus snap out of it and return to his practice.

Finally, Steven says to him, “Magnus. You should go outside; get some fresh air. Being indoors so much is making you pale and unhappy. Come back in about an hour. Please.”

Magnus shrugs. “M’kay.”

The bell above the door tinkles merrily as he steps outside, as if it’s telling him to cheer up a little. It reminds him of Julia, and his face grows a little more somber.

Trudging across Craftsmen’s Corner, lost in his own rather gloomy thoughts, Magnus almost doesn’t hear someone calling his name.

“Magnus. Hey, Magnus. Hey! Magnus!”

With a start, he snaps out of it and looks around. Bree Talibax is waving to him from the front window of the seamstress’s. “Hi!” she calls. Her voice is high, and as bright as the sun. She sounds like a babbling brook.

“Uh. Hi.” He waves awkwardly.

“We don’t talk much, do we?” she says, leaning on the windowsill. When she moves, her long white-blonde braid falls over her shoulder and swings gently just inches from the ground. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh. Alright, I guess.” Magnus shrugs. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of making things other than little wooden ducks.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Bree exclaims happily. The late morning sunlight reflects off of her perfectly straight, white teeth and blinds him for a brief moment. “Hailey and I were gonna ask Steven if he could make us some new shelves for our fabrics, but maybe we could have you make them instead!”

“Hm. Well. I’m not that great at shelves yet,” Magnus says, “but maybe in another few months.”

She frowns a little, her face creasing in thought. “We need new shelves before Candlenights,” she says. “I’m not sure if that timeline will work for you.”

Magnus suddenly realizes that he really, really wants to do this. He makes up his mind.

“Well, Miss Talibax,” he declares, pouring on the Rustic Hospitality, “I’ll do my best to make it work.”

She giggles a little. “Okay, then, Mr Burnsides. I’ll let Hailey know.”

“Alright. You have a good day now, Miss Talibax,” Magnus says. “I’ll see you later to talk about those shelves.”

She giggles again and waves to him as he continues past her shop and towards the well-crafted bridge leading to The Roost.

* * *

People don’t pay much attention to Magnus anymore when he walks down the street. He’s just another citizen in this strange, isolated oasis of a town in the middle of a barren waste, and, as strange as his entrance was, it was just a phenomenon in the daily routines of the everyday people.

Everyone says hello to him when they see him, though, and Magnus knows everyone well enough to call them by name when they wave and call a greeting. Mrs Fairfax shoots him a wink and Magnus cringes. “Don’t do that,” he says to her. “I’m not--what’s that even about, anyway?”

Matilda grins, and it’s a very suggestive expression. “Word gets around, boy,” she tells him. “And there’s a lot of words about you and that girl lately.”

Magnus cringes and speed-walks to escape.

When he’s certain he’s out of her line of sight, he slows to a walk again, only to be halted by a pleasantly-accented voice calling, “G’morning, Maggie!” Looking over, Magnus spots Newt waving to him from behind a booth.

“Hey, Newt,” he says, approaching them. “How are things?”

“Mm,” Newt says dismissively, “they’re alright. How’re things with  _ you? _ ”

Magnus pastes what he hopes is an easy smile onto his face. “Fine, fine.” He shrugs awkwardly. “Y’know, making… things….” He offers another smile, and it probably looks as fake as it feels.

“Yeah, right,” Newt sighs. “I know what’s been goin’ on between you an’ Jules.”

“How--?”

“Word gets around, Maggie.” Newt gives him a pointed look. “And by ‘word’, I mean, ‘Maggie and Jules kissed in front of a huge crowd’. You two are not inconspicuous.”

“Yeah, about that.” Magnus hisses a breath in through his teeth. “Things are… complicated.”

“You mean, Jules ran away. Yeah, I know about that too.” Newt crosses their arms. “That wasn’t because of  _ you _ , was it?”

“What? No, no, I don’t--I didn’t do anything! She kissed me and just--ran!” Magnus runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “I don’t know what I did wrong, I didn’t even-- _ she’s _ the one who kissed  _ me _ \--it’s her fault this time! I didn’t even--I don’t know what she wants! I--”

A cool hand on his wrist stops his tirade. “Walk with me, Maggie.” Newt smiles at him, gently now. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They’re sitting under an apple tree in the Fairfax orchard, each holding a large mug of hot apple cider. Their noses are a little cold and their cheeks are ruddy from the brisk breeze. “Listen, Maggie,” Newt says. “Jules is… she’s a very complex girl. I’m guessing you haven’t heard much about her mother, have ye?”

“No, nobody mentions her. Does that… have something to do with how Julia acts about me?”

“Maggie, it’s got everything to do with it.” Newt sighs and cradles their mug closer to their chest. “Julia’s mother was named Autumn Waxmen. Jules is the spittin’ image of her, if a bit broader in the shoulders. Steven… loved her, Maggie, you’ve gotta understand that. Steven loved her more than anything in the world. So when she died, it--well, it broke him. You can imagine how that affected Jules.” Newt sighs again and takes a sip of the warm drink.

“Julia’s made a lot of promises in her day--some of them impulsive, as you might expect--but there was no promise of hers more serious than one. She promised herself, after seeing how her father shattered, that she would never love anyone that way.”

Magnus bites his lip.

“You have to understand, Magnus, Julia  _ wants _ this. She  _ needs  _ it. But she… well, you have to wait for her to realize that. Till then… be strong, hmm?” They shoot him a smile from over the rim of their mug.

Magnus nods. “Yeah. Okay.” He stares off at the horizon. “I can do that for her.”

“You better.” Newt elbows him lightly and nearly makes him spill his cider. “Else I’ll come find ye, and you don’t want that.”

Magnus laughs a little. “Alright, alright. I fear the wrath of Newt.”

“I am Newt the Terrible!” Newt shouts before dissolving into laughter, Magnus close behind.

The two new friends sit beneath an apple tree, faces red from the cold and from their laughter, and the wind blows the leaves away.

* * *

Magnus builds a shelving unit.

It’s a beautiful shelving unit, made of cedar, finished to a shine, and one of the shelves is only a  _ little _ crooked. It’s a good shelving unit.

“It’s a good shelving unit,” Steven says proudly. “If I hadn’t watched you build it, I wouldn’t have thought it was your first one.”

“Thanks,” Magnus says, blushing with the praise.

“Who’s it going to go to?”

“I was thinking the Talibax sisters. They need some new shelves for their fabrics.”

“Well, that’s a very good idea, Magnus,” Steven says. “I’m sure they’ll be very happy to receive such a nice gift from you.”

“I hope so, they’re the ones who asked me!” Magnus laughs. “You know,” he adds, “I’m pretty sure Bree was flirting with me.”

“She’s a very nice girl.” Steven shrugs.

“Yes,  _ but. _ ” Magnus sighs and leans back against the wall.

Steven peers at his apprentice. “You’re thinking about my daughter, aren’t you?”

Magnus immediately stands up, pole-straight, shaking his head frantically. “No, sir, no way, I wouldn’t--I don’t--”

“It’s  _ alright, _ Magnus,” Steven smiles. “I’ve seen the way you look at her--and word gets around quickly, you know.”

Magnus blushes fiercely. “I’ve been told.”

Steven laughs at that. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. You should have seen me when I first met my wife.”

His eyes grow far-away, and his smile more nostalgic. “She was so beautiful. Everyone in town knew that I had it bad for that young woman.”

Magnus settles back against the wall again, watching Steven carefully.

“She was an artist--a painter. She created the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen. One day…” He pauses, clears his throat, blinks a few times. “One day, she walked up to me and asked if she could paint my portrait. Of course I said yes, I would have done anything for her. So she had me sit and she set up her easel and her paints and we were there for hours before I realized--she wasn’t painting! She was just staring at me.” Steven laughs, and, though he has tears in his eyes, he doesn’t sound sad. “That was when we knew we were meant to be together.”

Magnus nods. “She sounds like she was… an incredible woman.”

“Yeah,” Steven says, and the word comes out as a hoarse breath. “She was amazing.

“When she died… when she died, Magnus, I lost myself. It was the worst time in my entire life. I didn’t-- _ couldn’t _ do anything. I was gone--just as dead as she was. But my daughter, my Julia, brought me back. And she’s spent the last several years resurrecting me. She is… just as incredible as her mother was.”

He looks at Magnus, and his gaze is sharp as the saw on the wall. “Do you love her, Magnus?” he asks. “Do you love my daughter?”

“More--more than anything,” Magnus replies immediately, his tone serious. “More than anything in the--in the  _ universe. _ ”

Steven relaxes. “Good. Good.” He offers Magnus a smile and places his hand on his shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Steven,” Magnus says, grinning back. “Now--I’d better get this shelves over to the Talibax sisters--they’ve been waiting almost two weeks and they get antsy really easily.”

Steven laughs. “That they do. Do you need help?”

“Nah, they’re right across the street. Besides,” he flexes his arms, “these bad boys could use the exercise.”

“If you say so.” Steven laughs again as Magnus hefts the shelving unit and staggers out the door of the Hammer and Tongs, heading for the seamstresses and their little shop.

* * *

It’s late fall now, and the air is crisp and biting. People are saying it’s the coldest its been in years, and for some reason Magnus says, “I’ve been somewhere colder.” For a moment, he can see it--just a brief flash of a wasteland of nothing but ice--and then it’s gone. When he tries to recall it again, there’s nothing but static.

Weird.

Sometimes, he’ll sit in his room, trying to remember something about the person who took him here. She was tall, and--and--

The memory’s right there, right there, but he couldn’t quite get it, couldn’t comprehend it.

It frustrates him to the point of tears all too often.

He has a few sparse memories, of course--his mother, his father, the bullies, the dog. His house when he was very little--all wood and brick and rose bushes that his mother liked. He can remember his favorite food as a little boy had been Shepherd’s Pie. He remembers that his mother could sing, that his father had a gigantic sword from when he used to be a warrior.

But there’s a lot of static after his childhood years.

He knows that he went to an academy, and that’s where he made a lot of friends. He was maybe in his 20s and he wasn’t very smart but he made it in and he was selected to--do something. Something big and important and a little scary.

He remembers cameras flashing and reporters shouting but he doesn’t remember the surroundings, the faces, the voices, the questions.

Sometimes, he sees the hull of a big silver ship.

He can remember faces, voices sometimes, and he dreams about them. He dreams that they’re running away from something big, something scary, like a monster that will eat you while you sleep, one of those things that little children are scared of but on an impossible scale. He wakes in the mornings, sweating, after seeing himself die in increasingly graphic ways. Somehow, impossibly, he knows these are memories, but they fade in seconds and eventually he’s once again left grasping at straws and crying for reasons he cannot quite remember.

As the dreams come and go, as he learns to cope with the fearsome images in his own memory, autumn slips through the cracks, blown away by a sharp wind, and winter arrives in a gust of snow and a deep, penetrating cold.

* * *

Magnus is awakened one morning not by a terrible dream, but by the bell above the front door ringing as someone shoves it open. “Steven,” a woman’s voice calls, “Steven, are you home?”

The woman is not Julia, or Mrs. Fairfax. Magnus can’t identify her voice through his floorboards.

“Yes? What can I do for you?” Magnus hears Steven open his own bedroom door and shuffle down the stairs. “Oh, hello, Agatha.”

_ Agatha. _ She’s the tanner’s wife.

“Steven, we need to talk.” Agatha’s voice is urgent. “It’s gotten worse.”

And then Magnus has to strain to hear, and, like a child, he climbs out of bed and lays on the floor, pressing his ear to the ground to hear what is being said.

“...len?” Steven says. “What has he done now?”

“He’s raised taxes again,” Agatha replies, her voice worried. “My son might not be able to keep his house if this keeps up.”

“And right before Candlenights, too!” Steven’s soft exclamation is frustrated. “I don’t know why he keeps doing this to us.”

“Oh, I have a few ideas.” Agatha is angry; her voice shakes. “I think he’s stealing money from us to fund his little army and buy himself some fancy new clothes.”

“Shh!” Steven hisses. “Not so loud. You don’t know who could be listening.”

Agatha’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Steven, but things here are getting worse. We’re already poor, but now we can barely afford our materials for trading. The traders could stop coming here altogether.”

Steven sighs. “I know, Agatha. But what is there to do? Any resistance we put up will be shut down by his guards.”

“Not if we do things right,” Agatha vows, and then Magnus hears the door open, then close.

There is a long, long silence, and then he hears Steven curse softly. “What am I going to tell Julia?”

And Magnus gets a big, stupid, brilliant idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last filler chapter! It should be posted somewhere around November 26th if all goes as planned!


	7. my heart told my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia catches an apple thief, sings in the tavern, organizes a rebellion, and bottles up her emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And my head told my heart   
> "Let love grow"  
> But my heart told my head  
> "This time no"  
> Mumford and Sons, “Winter Winds”
> 
>  
> 
> WHOO! Just barely squeaked out this fic at my posting deadline! Sorry it's a bit short, folks.  
> S/O to the folks in the TAZ discord for their support of my fic!!!

Julia feels bad.

This is not common for Julia. Everything for a purpose, no regrets, don’t care about the future, yadda yadda yadda. Julia never feels bad about anything she does.

But the hurt look on Magnus’s face when she ran away makes her actually stop and think.

Did she do the right thing?

What if he’s angry at her now? What if he doesn’t want to talk to her? What if he’s insulted?

Julia shudders. Things don’t go well when you insult big, strong men.

She decides that, for the time being, she’s going to ignore Magnus. Just in case.

* * *

She wakes up well before Magnus, hurries downstairs, and greets her father. “I’m going to sing at the  _ Beam, _ ” she explains, “I have to be on time.”

“Alright, Julia,” Steven smiles, “have fun.”

She pushes the door open and practically runs out.

The thought crosses her mind, as she makes her way to The Roost, that she has never run from her problems before.

* * *

The  _ Beam _ is nice, as always, the atmosphere warm and cheerful, the golden glow from the lamps on the walls a welcome relief from the grey autumn skies. Rafe waves her over with a smile, gesturing to the chair beside him. Though deaf and mostly nonverbal, Rafe is the most skilled musician Julia has ever met, and he is always excited to have Julia performing beside him.

“Hello,” she says with her hands and her mouth as she takes her seat beside him. “How are you doing?”

He replies with his hands, nimble fingers almost tripping in his excitement to speak to her again. ‘I’m well. I missed you. I’ve heard that a lot of things are happening with you right now. His name is Magnus, right?’

Julia blushes. “You’re not wrong,” she says. “But Magnus and I are…” She hesitates. “It’s complicated.”

Rafe grins. ‘If you say so. Shall we make some music?’

She nods happily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Rafe picks out a melody on his lute, then fills it out with chords, and Julia follows the tune with lyrics she has heard before--a love ballad.

As she sings, she listens to the people around her. It’s one of the most efficient ways to hear what’s happening.

So she hears about Saro, how he became injured, and the stress it’s inflicted on his poor husband. It was Kalen again--damn him--and his guards. “More like Brute Squad,” one woman complains in a hushed tone. “Those men are violent, let me tell you.”

“Shh,” her companion hisses. “Anyone could be listening!” She looks around furtively. “You don’t know who you can trust here.”

_ Too right, _ Julia thinks.

* * *

Days pass. Julia spends her mornings singing at the  _ Beam, _ and the rest of her time either in her blacksmith’s workshop or being as helpful as possible. She visits Saro and his husband, Niila, to make sure they’re doing alright. She sorts books at the library. At the multidenominational temple, she chats with the clerics.

One afternoon, as she’s finishing delivering some cast-iron tools to one of her customers, she is suddenly accosted by one large-bosomed, panting Mrs Fairfax. “Julia,” she gasps. “I need your help.”

“Mrs Fairfax, did you--did you run all the way here?”

“That’s not important, dear. What’s important is that you help me catch the apple thief!”

“Apple thief?” Julia exclaims. “Which way did he go?”

“The little rascal ran for The Roost with a whole sack of my best apples! You have to apprehend him and rescue my apples!” Mrs Fairfax, disheveled and panicked, takes Julia’s hands in her gnarled ones. “Please, Julia!”

“Alright, ma’am. I’ll find him and bring him and the apples to you.” Julia drops her now-empty crate on the ground, hikes up her skirts, and takes off for The Roost.

She reaches the bridge connecting Village Rock to The Roost and sees, at the other side, a small figure with a huge, lumpy knapsack slung over his back. He’s running very fast.

“Aha,” she mutters, “found you.” Readjusting her grip on her skirt, she takes a breath and shouts, “HEY!” as she pounds across the bridge in hot pursuit of her culprit, who looks behind him and lets out a startled yelp before putting on an extra burst of speed and vanishing around a building.

“Stop him!” Julia shrieks as she goes dashing through the cobbled streets of Village Rock past the civilians walking the streets, who gape at her as she streaks past them.

Rounding a corner, she spots her target again, a lot closer than she expected him to be. If she reached out--

Her hand grasps at thin air as he scrambles out of her way and dives into an alley. “You little--!” she shrieks and skids sideways into the alley after him. “Stop!  _ Thief! _ ”

The child--because he  _ is _ a child--laughs wildly and, making a face at her, grips a drainpipe and begins climbing towards the roof of a house.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she gasps, and leaps up, using her immense upper arm strength to grab onto his ankle and yank him back down.

He falls from the drainpipe with a terrified shout and lands directly in Julia’s arms, who glares at him and says, “You owe both Mrs Fairfax and me a  _ huge _ apology, young man.”

She leads the boy by his forearm back to Village Rock where Mrs Fairfax waits at the bridge, wringing her hands. When she sees Julia and the boy, she gasps with joy. “You found my apples!”

“Yes, ma’am, and a very hungry little boy, too,” Julia replies. She glances at the child. “He led me on quite the chase.”

Mrs Fairfax glares down at the boy. “Where are your parents, young man?” she asks.

The boy shakes his head. “Don’t got any.”

Julia’s heart softens. “Do you have a home? Anyone you stay with?”

“I got a shed,” the boy says eagerly. “Got me a shed to live in. A nice old man on The Roost lets me sleep there most nights. The wind only sometimes gets through the cracks.”

Julia looks at Mrs Fairfax, who, though angry, seems less so as the child explains. “Well,” she splutters, trying to maintain a furious exterior over this small, thin child, “you still had no right to steal my apples.”

“I was hungry, ma’am,” he says sheepishly. “I’m awful sorry I got caught. Me ‘n my friends were lookin’ for supper and--”

“There are more of you?” Julia asks.

“Uh-hm,” the child nods. “It’s me, and Tommy, and Ari, and Ris, and Biri.”

“And none of you have anywhere to live or anyone to live with?”

“No’m.” He shakes his head. “Just us.”

Julia looks imploringly at Mrs Fairfax. “Can’t you just spare them this one bag of apples?” she pleads. “Look at him, you can see the bones in his arms.”

Mrs Fairfax looks from the boy, to Julia, to the boy. “What’s your name, boy?” she asks him.

“It’s Mau, ma’am.” He eyes the bag of apples, like he’s going to steal it again. “Me’n the boys are really hungry,” he adds.

Mrs Fairfax squints at the child.

“Frank and I have been looking for a farmhand for a while,” she says finally. “How’d you like to come and work for us? We’re getting old and we can’t do the farmwork like we used to. You’d get three square meals, a warm room, and plenty of time to run around outside--plus wages, when you’re older.”

Mau’s eyes widen. “Really, ma’am?” he gasps. “D’you mean it?”

Julia stares at Mrs Fairfax, who winks at her. “Yes, yes,” the woman says, her voice a mask of impatience over unmistakable pride. “Now, why don’t you take this bag of apples to your friends and tell them that if they ever need a place to stay that’s warm, or if they’re hungry, they can come and visit you and help you out.”

The child’s eyes widen even further as he is handed the bag. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says reverently. “I’ll go’n do that.” Flashing a grin at Julia, he turns and runs full-tilt across the bridge.

Julia stared at Mrs Fairfax. “Matilda,” she says, “I never knew you had such a soft spot for children.”

“Well,” she sighs, “Frank and I always wanted children but I could never have ‘em. Mau’ll be part of our family soon enough.” She smiles. “‘Sides, since Frank’s fall it’s been harder and harder for him to climb ladders and trees to get the apples. It’ll be nice to have young, strong legs doing the climbing.”

Julia nods. “It’s a very good excuse, Mrs Fairfax. Now please excuse me--I have a long list of orders I have to craft yet and I should get a head start.”

“Of course,” Matilda says. “Good-bye, dear.”

“Good-bye.” Julia waves and heads back towards Craftsmen’s Corridor and the smithery of the Hammer and Tongs.

* * *

As the leaves wither under autumn’s oppressive chill, so does Julia’s mood. The heaviness of her own depressed mood reflects the heaviness of the warmer layers she adds over her cotton dresses as the season nears winter.

She’s never before realized how light Magnus made her feel.

She’s sitting in the  _ Beam _ one evening, waiting for Newt to show up, and reflecting on her many conflicting emotions about Magnus over a cup of strong, black tea, when she feels a presence come up behind her.

“Hi, Newt,” she says.

“Not Newt,” a familiar voice replies.

Julia whirls around and sees “ _ Todd?” _

“Hi, Julia,” the young man says with a rather unpleasant grin. “How’ve you been? Heard about the whole ‘Magnus’ fiasco and thought, ‘Huh, maybe she’d like a rebound from this crush.’” His grin widened. “What d’you say, Julia? Willing to give me another chance?”

Julia looks at him. Studies his face carefully. Slowly, a smile forms on her face.

“No,” she says, shoves herself to her feet, using the momentum to bring her arm back, and then around, slamming her fist straight into his jaw.

Everyone in the tavern is silent as Todd hits the floor.

Then someone shouts, “Yeah! Get ‘im, Jules!” and the room breaks into cheers and applause.

Newt is clapping loudest of all and runs up to Julia, grinning and cheering. “Ye really showed that son-of-a, didn't ye?”

Julia smiles awkwardly. “I didn't mean to,” she admits.

“Well, ye did,” Newt says, “and a good thing, too. He's been deservin’ that for months.”

Julia cracks a more genuine smile. “I'm glad to do some service to the community.”

Newt laughs. “You're a strange one, Jules. I like you.” They take Julia's arm and lead her to a secluded table. “Have a seat,” they tell her, and sit down across from her. When she does, they lean forward. “How are ye?”

Julia fumbles for words, caught off-guard by the question. “Well, I--I'm doing alright. I simultaneously caught an apple thief and got Mrs Fairfax a farm hand last week. I've been helping out at the temple and the library and--”

“Julia.” Their voice is quiet and serious. “How are you?”

“I…” Julia hesitates, then crumples. “Oh, gods, Newt, I can't do this!”

Newt reaches out to pat her hand as she hiccups out a few syllables before dissolving into utter distressed incoherency. “That’s right. Let it out.”

“I--Newt, I can't--don't know--” Julia tries through her tears.

“It's alright. I understand this is some tough shit to work through, Jules. Take yer time.”

“I just--he's so--” Julia sniffles, takes a deep breaths, and says, “I think I'm in love with him? But I just… can't do it. I can't, Newt!”

“I understand. These things take time. Maybe in a month or two you'll have a better grasp on what's happening.”

Julia sniffles again and nods. “I know. Thanks, Newt.”

“My pleasure, Jules.”

* * *

Kalen enforces a curfew.

The whole thing is stupid, really. Julia only hears about it because she spends so much time in the community. “I don't understand it,” a woman complains quietly. “What could have inspired this?”

“It could be the whole Saro situation,” her husband replies. “Kalen might not want anyone else to get hurt.”

“Well, he could have just gotten rid of the guards. We haven't seen any threats lately, so--”

“Helen!” her husband hisses. “You can't just go about saying those kinds of things! You don't know who could be listening. Kalen could have us arrested!”

She leans forward. “ _ Fuck  _ Kalen,” she whispers with a wry smile.

Julia approves.

“Fuck Kalen,” she repeats, softly, under her breath.

She knows what she has to do.

* * *

A chilly, late autumn breeze blows stiffly outside. It is just after sundown, a few hours before curfew, and a group of young adults is gathered in the cellar of the temple--an ancient area, damp and cool but made cozier by the addition of a few tapestries and a crackling fireplace.

“Alright, gang,” Julia says. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.”

“To talk about Magnus?”

Julia sighs. “ _ No, _ Newt. I’m--okay, let’s start small. How many of you here have been negatively impacted in some way by our dear, beloved governor?”

Everyone in the room raises their hand.

“I thought so,” Julia says, satisfied. “Well, let me say one thing loud and clear:  _ fuck _ Kalen. Fuck his rules. Fuck his system. Fuck his speeches. Fuck the curfew and the guards and the taxes and the renovations on his stupid mansion.

“Our governor is supposed to be for the people. He is supposed to guide us. He is supposed to take care of us. He is supposed to settle matters and provide for us. We should only owe him a small amount every year. But he has blown everything far out of proportion--he is turning himself into a lord, a  _ king, _ even.

“We deserve better,” Julia says. “Yeah?”

“Yeah!” the group agrees.

“Um. What are we going to do about it?” a shy-looking blonde pipes up from the edges.

“We’re going to prepare,” Julia replies. “Find weapons and meet me back here tomorrow night. We’re all going to learn how to fight.”

Some people gasp. “Fight?” someone says--a young man, tall, dark, with close, coarse hair and deep eyes. “Who are we fighting?”

“Nobody, yet,” Julia says. “And hopefully, never. But we always must be prepared for the worst.”

There is a chorus of murmurings, and the group gradually comes to an assent.

“Perfect,” Julia says with a triumphant smile. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

* * *

After a few days, Steven starts to question Julia’s absence. She waves it off with an easy, “Oh, my friends and I are meeting for a book club,” but Steven could always see through her lies. He doesn’t try to stop her, though, so she keeps it up.

All while avoiding Magnus, of course.

Julia trains her group well--strengthening them, toughening them, disciplining them, like a true leader. She teaches them the art of the sword, of the bow, of the knife, of the body. They learn how to move with grace but also with speed, with accuracy. They train to be warriors, to be fighters.

Julia fights with a hammer. She calls herself “The Hammer” because she thinks it sounds cool, mostly, but also because it is the title of a warrior.

She is strong, she is brave, and she will not be beaten down by the rules of a twisted leader. She is a hammer, and she swings back.

Newt chooses a staff--light, graceful, easy, able to do large amounts of damage with small amounts of blood. A truly Newt-like weapon.

Richand Gilliman chooses a rapier, of course--with his dexterity, a finesse weapon is easy for him to master.

Some stronger members choose things like swords or axes, some weaker members pick up bows.

Julia wonders how long it will take for these weapons to become banned.

* * *

Julia works hard for three long months. Between her work in the community, at the  _ Beam, _ and with her little rebellious group of young people, she doesn’t spend much time resting. Her personal life seems to whirl by faster than the world can rotate, and time speeds by so fast that she hardly notices  the change of the seasons.

She spots Magnus a few times throughout the three months they spend apart. She catches glimpses of him: delivering shelves to the Talibax sisters; chatting with people in town; carving early in the morning or late at night in her father’s workshop. When she sees him, it makes her chest ache. She doesn’t know why.

As autumn makes the shift into winter and the harvest grinds to a halt, as the only bird calls to be heard are the harsh, rasping cries of the ravens in the crevices of the spires, as the wind stabs knives into uncovered ears and wrenches streaming tears from the eyes of anyone unfortunate enough to be outside, Julia feels the ache deepen until it is a black stain on her heart, until it is a hole, an abyss.

Resolutely, she ignores it.

She has a revolution to direct. She cannot waste time on a silly attachment such as this.

* * *

“Steven!”

Julia is out of bed in a flash, ear pressed to her bedroom door. It’s Agatha, the tanner’s wife, and she comes with awful news. A higher tax has been imposed, and it’s going to make the lives of the less-fortunates in the town even worse.

As she hears the conversation between Agatha and her father, Julia’s mind churns with plans and ideas. She grabs a pen and a notepad and furiously scribbles down ideas in shorthand--such shorthand that only she would be able to understand it. Hopefully, nobody will find it before she can burn it at their meeting tonight.

Julia has a plan--all she has to do now is put it into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last filler chapter! The next one is the Candlenights chapter before a hiatus. I can't wait to resolve all of this romantic tension tbh, it's been making me antsy for a while  
> Thanks for sticking with me this far by the way, everyone. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday if you live in America :)  
> Don't forget to check me out on tumblr at themindofcc.tumblr.com and read my other fanfictions here!


	8. anything for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newt gets tired. Magnus goes to a party. Juila is won over. Someone is a little snitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Cos oh my girl I love everything you do  
> You and me make a pretty fine pair too  
> And I would do about anything for you  
> So let's dance till this whole night is through  
> Mumford and Sons, “I Take Your Hand”

Winter comes quickly, sharply, with a snap and a crackle of wood and leaves. Within days, all plant life is grey and dead. The sudden cold snap brings with it an unbidden gloom of grey skies and gusting wind, the sort of wind that howls all night and whips up hair and cloaks and skirts during the day. And with the grey sky comes snow, knifelike in the stiff wind when it falls, blowing into drifts along houses and in alleyways.

Winter on Raven’s Roost is ugly, for the most part, but with winter also comes everyone’s favorite holiday: Candlenights.

With Candlenights comes gifts, friendship, family, and, of course, festivities. Parties are planned, decorations are hung, lights shine warm and welcoming to contrast the heavy depression of deep cold. Everyone celebrates, everyone is happy, and for the span of about a week, everyone loves.

It is the season of joy, of light, of life, and within it, many changes can happen.

* * *

 

The door to Kalen’s office inches open.

“Well?” the governor says. “Come in, then.”

A young man, barely out of his teenage years, slips nervously into the room. “H-hello, sir. I’ve come to give m-my report.”

“And?”

“W-well, sir, it seems that he has successfully been integrated into town.”

“Wonderful. Thank you for your report.” Kalen smiles pleasantly, hands folded on his desk.

“Of course, sir,” the guard says, salutes, and turns to leave.

“Oh--Colin,” Kalen calls after him. He turns around.

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you have any plans for Candlenights?”

“I… yes, sir. I’m throwing a party that night for my friends and family.”

“That sounds very nice, Colin.” Kalen smiles again. “Have a good night.”

* * *

 

Richand slips into the Hammer and Tongs, his bard outfit coordinated to fit the blue-and-silver theme of Candlenights. The Waxmen’s dog, Remmy, rushes out to greet him in a flurry of barks and a wagging tail. “Hello, there, bud,” Richand laughs, reaching down to pat the animals head before straightening up and facing the woodcarver at his desk. “Hi, Steven,” he says, brushing some snow out of his long auburn braid. “Can I speak to Julia?”

“She’s in her forge,” Steven replies, pointing.

“Thank you so much,” Richand grins and approaches the doorway to the forge. “Julia! Newt’s at the tavern; they want to speak to you. You should head over before they come here themself.”

“Fine,” Julia says. A loud  _ clang  _ resounds as she drops her hammer, then she emerges, wiping the black from her hands onto her apron. “Tell them I’ll be right over, I need to change my clothes.”

“Right-o,” he says, and spins on his heel to jog back out the door.

Julia removes her apron, washes her hands, and puts on a heavy wool dress and cloak before stepping out into the blistering cold.

The tavern is decorated festively and the people inside are happy and hungry. Newt sits at one of the round tables by the musicians and takes a long drink from their glass of wine. “Juliaaa,” Newt sing-songs, waving Julia over as soon as she enters. “It’s happy hour,” they crow. “Wine’s on me.”

“I… no, thanks, Newt,” Julia sighs, slumping into the chair beside her friend. “I’m tired.”

“Aw, loosen up, Jules,” Newt coaxes. “Just a little?”

Julia bites her lip before looking at Newt’s hopeful expression. They bat their green eyes at her. “Alright, fine.” Julia gives in with an over-the-top roll of her eyes. “But just one glass, alright?”

“Yea, yea,” Newt grumbles good-naturedly, and raises their hand to call over a barmaid. After placing the order--a top-off for them and a glass of wine for her--they say, “Jules, ye got any plans for Candlenights?”

“My dad and I usually have dinner together,” Julia says. “That’s all, though.”

“Well, if ye want, my boyfriend’s having a party that day. You and yer dad are invited. And Maggie, too,” they add with a wink.

“Oh, my gods,” Julia exclaims. “Lay off me about Burnsides, already. I don’t--”

“Want to accept yer feelin’s about the guy ye kissed at the Harvest Festival a few months ago?”

Julia glares. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what  _ were _ ye goin’a say?”

Julia bites her lip and takes a sip of her wine. “I, uh. I don’t want to talk about him, Newt. I…”

“Julia.” Newt’s tone of voice makes Julia look at her friend. Their face has never been more serious. “Come on. You have to let yourself feel things.”

“But Newt, I can’t! I just--after Mom--”

“It’s not goin’a be like yer Ma! Ye’ve got to move on. Ye’ve got to open up, Jules. Ye can’t keep a cold heart in a warm body for long.”

Julia opens her mouth to argue and then, surprisingly, is shut up by Newt.

“No, Jules. Ye know what? Before the new year ye’re goin’a talk to Magnus and ye’re goin’a hash it out with him. I’m not goin’a be yer in-between anymore. So either ye talk it out with him before or during Candlenights, or ye’re just goin’a have to move on.”

For some reason, Julia can’t find it in herself to argue with this.

* * *

 

The door slams open, handle crashing into the wall. Steven flinches. He hopes it hasn’t dented.

“Mister Waxmen!”

Wiping the sawdust from his hands onto his apron, Steven emerges from his workshop. “Oh, hello, Newt. How can I help you?”

“I need ye to help me find Magnus.”

“Oh, Magnus? He’s out at the Roost right now, picking up some bread from Will’s.”

“Thank ye so much!” Newt beams, and then they’re gone again.

Steven blinks at the closed door. “I don’t quite know what just happened,” he says aloud to an empty building.

* * *

 

“Maggie!” a heavily-accented voice calls. “Maggie!  _ Magnus!” _

Magnus turns, looking behind him at the people meandering through the snow-dusted streets of the Roost. “What?”

A very freckled, pale-faced person approaches him, waving a hand excitedly, and he recognizes it to be Newt. “Magnus, I’d like to talk to ye.”

“What about?” Magnus asks suspiciously.

Newt beams up at him. “I’ve got--” they look around shiftily before leaning in closer and saying in a false hush, “--I’ve got a plan to propose to ye.”

Magnus narrows his eyes. “What kind of a plan?”

“Well, it involves Julia, see,” Newt says conversationally. “Ye like her, right?”

Magnus hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I really,  _ really _ like her.”

“Well, then. This shouldn’t be too hard.” Newt grins. “My boyfriend’s havin’ a Candlenights party at his house on Candlenights at 6. There’ll be feastin’ and musics and presents.” They lean in conspiratorially. “And Julia, too.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow.

Newt leans back, crossing their arms. “All you’ve gotta do is confess yer feelin’s to her, and bing-bang-boom, ye’ve got yerself a happy Candlenights. How’s it sound?”

Magnus thinks it over.

Then he asks himself why he needed to think it over.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll go.”

“Perfect,” Newt grins.

* * *

 

The days leading up to the Candlenights party are stressful for Magnus. What does he do? Is he supposed to purchase a gift for Julia? Is she even going to want to see him?

He decides to go simple, but meaningful. A sort of apology for whatever he did wrong.

It only takes him a couple of days to carve his gift--a little duck made out of beautiful mahogany wood. The trinket is only about the size of his thumb but he makes sure to carve out every single detail, right down to its feathers. He’s certain that Julia will love it.

Now all he has to do is wait.

That’s the hardest part, though--he has to wait four more days to present it to Julia, and in those four days Magnus has all the time in the world to worry. What if she hates it? What if she hates  _ him? _ What if she’s going to have him cast out of Raven’s Roost?

But then--what if she loves it?

Magnus doesn’t dare think about that possibility. He doesn’t want to jinx it.

Sometimes he can hear her working in her forge as he sits and carves in his workshop, but he doesn’t dare approach her before the Candlenights party, for fear of messing things up worse than he already has. He wishes things could be like they were before the Harvest Festival--bright, warm, friendly, full of banter and laughter and life. He wishes he could talk to anyone without being asked about Julia, about  _ them _ , like they’re a couple, like they’re  _ friends. _

_ Are _ they friends?

That’s a question Magnus doesn’t like asking himself because he knows the answer, and it’s a big, fat negative sign. He sighs and decides to stop thinking about it.

_ Just go with the flow, _ he tells himself, and then he waits for Candlenights.

* * *

 

Candlenights comes. The Hammer and Tongs is full of life as people bustle in and out, picking up various items made by the three artisans to give as gifts or to use themselves. It’s chaotic, it’s loud, it’s lively. Order forms fly, gp’s clatter on counters and floorboards, metal clangs against walls and floors and more metal, people shout, things pass from hand to hand to hand.

Magnus and Julia are in the same room--yet they’re so distant, so separate, so close, that they don’t take notice of each other as they race to get their goods distributed before they close.

And then they close. And they take a breath. And they slump against the walls and they breathe some more and neither one of them speaks but they feel close again, like they haven’t spent the past three months completely separate from each other.

Steven leans against the desk, just as tired as the other two, but he watches them with a keen eye. He can spot their bond, invisible, intangible. He knows.

“Well, you two,” he says, smiling. “What are you doing for Candlenights?”

Magnus looks at him, eyes wide and anxious. “Nothing,” he says hastily. “Nothing at all. Just going to g-go out with some friends.”

“Newt invited me to a party,” Julia says, her voice much more confident than Magnus’s. “So I’ll be there until late. Kalen’s removed the curfew for tonight, because of the holiday, so you don’t have to worry about me getting stuck anywhere.”

Steven smiles. “Sounds like both of you will have a great time tonight. Personally, I will be having dinner with the Fairfaxes. I think Will and Jan will be there as well, so there will be good company at Matilda’s and Frank’s place tonight.”

“That sounds wonderful, Dad,” Julia says, and Magnus nods.

They share an almost-comfortable silence together before Steven straightens, clapping his hands together. “Right. Well, the both of you should get ready for your gatherings tonight, and I have to scrounge up something to bring to the Fairfaxes.”

There’s a fraction of a second’s pause while everyone processes the information, and then they’re off in a bustle of plans and preparations.

_ It’s funny _ , Magnus thinks as he selects an outfit for the party, _ because I know I had to have celebrated Candlenights before, but it feels like this is the first time I’ve ever celebrated the holiday. _ He tries to remember holidays past but every time he thinks he’s got something his head is filled with static and eventually he has to sit down and clutch his temples where a migraine has developed. Why can’t he remember? When did he forget? “Magnus Burnsides,” he says aloud to himself, “you are a mystery.”

* * *

 

When Magnus walks into the party, he’s about forty-five minutes late, snow-coated, and half-panicked. The grey skies are full of a wind that shoves both man and snow through the door and into the warm, well-lit front room. “Maggie!” Newt cries happily from their place on a pale blue sofa, half-draped across a young man. “So glad ye decided tae join us!”

He grins sheepishy, closing the door and brushing the snow from his jacket. “Sorry I’m late,” he says.

“No problem,” Newt’s boyfriend says, standing. He approaches Magnus and sticks out a hand. “Colin MacCaverty. Glad to have you, Magnus.”

“Yeah,” Magnus says.

The house is loud and crowded. Magnus hates crowds. The chaotic, jostling atmosphere sends a flash of an image through his mind--it’s sharp, it’s ugly. It’s black and white and every color and it’s huge and all-devouring and--

Magnus sees Julia across the room and he can’t stop staring. She looks beautiful--decked out in a pale grey dress with her hair twisted artfully on top of her head and secured with a blue ribbon. She wears a delicate silver necklace that perfectly accents her sharp collarbone and graceful neck.

Her eyes meet his and he  _ knows. _

Crossing the room, Magnus approaches the young woman and, when he’s standing right next to her, he says, “Can we--can we go somewhere more private?”

She nods, and he realizes this is the first time he’s seen her actually speechless.

The pair walks through the kitchen and out onto a little back porch. Here the wind blows, but they are sheltered by a steep overhang and a strong wall. “Julia,” he begins, but a calloused finger shoots out to touch against his lips and he falls silent.

“Magnus,” she says, and the weight of emotion she leaves in his name almost makes him crumple. “Magnus, I--” She looks down, breaking eye contact. Her shoulders go up, down--sharply, once. “Magnus,” she says once more, and she looks up at him and she says, “I think I--” She swallows. Bites her lip. “It’s hard. To talk about the way I feel.”

“Yeah,” Magnus says. “I know.”

The wind gusts around them as they stare at each other.

“I didn’t mean to--if I offended you or hurt you in some way. I didn’t… I didn’t want to hurt you. I mean--” her speech speeds up, “I mean, maybe I was reading things wrong, maybe you just saw me as a sister, maybe I thought you were trying to--I don’t know what came over me, Magnus, so maybe if we could just--”

“No.”

They’re both shocked to hear that word come out of Magnus’s mouth. He tests it again. “No, Julia.”

He takes a step closer. “What you did, at Harvest--” He stops. Takes a breath. “Me too. I mean-- _ gods, _ Julia, I didn’t think you actually--” He stops, and then he starts laughing. Maybe there are tears in his eyes. Maybe they roll down his cheeks. He doesn’t care. “Julia, I fell in love with you the moment I  _ saw _ you. There’s--there’s nothing in the world I’d rather do, nowhere I’d rather be, than here, with you, right now. And yeah, maybe this is really romantic bullshit, but--”

And then he’s interrupted by Julia again, because she throws herself into his arms and kisses him, hard, right on the mouth. It’s clunky, it’s awkward, it’s inexperienced, and there isn’t the fairy-tale lightning and angelic choirs, but it’s warm and it’s  _ right _ and when she pulls away, breathing hard, he pulls her right back in.

Here, Magnus realizes, with his mouth crushed up against that of the woman he loves, with her here and warm in his arms--here is  _ home. _

Eventually they lose contact and they stand there, breath misting in the chilly air, staring at each other like it’s the last time they’ll ever see each other, and then they laugh breathlessly and Magnus pulls Julia closer to him, kissing her forehead and her cheekbones and her mouth again just because he  _ can _ now.

They stand like that, holding each other, occasionally pressing small kisses to the cheeks or mouth of the other, for a long time, until Magnus realizes that Julia’s shivering. “Shit,” he says. “You’re freezing. Let’s go inside.”

“No, no!” Julia says, half-laughing. “All I’m going to hear the rest of the night is ‘I told you so’s! I’m pretty sure half the people in there have a  _ wager _ going on us!”

“No kidding?” Magnus says, and he’s pleasantly shocked to feel how warm and easy it is to laugh with her. “I wonder who’s gonna win.” He grins at her, and she grins back.

“Newt, probably,” she says. She steps back, out of his arms, and immediately shivers. “Brr. You’re right--let’s go inside.”

He smiles, and reaches out to take her hand as they both re-enter the crowded house and join the bustling guests. Immediately Newt spots them and walks over quite jauntily. “Helloo, there, my good people,” they say, a toothy grin splitting their face. “How are things in Magnus and Julia worlds?” Newt’s eyes flick down to look at where Magnus’s hand joins with Julia’s. Their smile gets wider. “Pretty good, eh?”

“Yeah,” Julia says, beaming. She lets go of Magnus’s hand to hug Newt. “Thanks.”

“Ah, no problem,” Newt grins, patting Julia on the back. “I knew you'd get there eventually.”

Julia steps back, towards Magnus, and Newt claps their hands together once. “Well, Jules, Maggie, it's been grand, but I have some gold to collect, sooooo, I'll see you around.” They wink before spinning on their heel and shouting, “Richand Gilliman, ye owe me  _ big! _ ”

The man in question blinks, looks from Magnus to Julia to Magnus to Newt, turns, and, clutching his money pouch, runs.

“Get the  _ fuck _ back here ye son of a--!” Newt screeches, taking off after him.

Julia laughs. It makes Magnus feel warm inside. Is this what Candlenights is supposed to feel like?

Squeezing his hand, Julia looks up at him. “I hope you can get along with my friends,” she says. “You’ve already met Newt, and you know Richand and Colin. That,” she continues, pointing to a half-elf by the staircase, “is Amondea. Their twin is somewhere around here.” She scans the room for a moment before pointing to a near identical copy of Amondea standing and chattering with some young adults. “There they are. That’s Morea.”

Something clicks in Magnus’s head for a brief moment as he looks at the twins. Their wide, dark eyes, smooth chestnut skin, and wavy hair remind him of someone. Someones?

And then the thought passes, his mind skimming over it.

He nods, realizing that Julia has continued talking. She points to a gaggle of girls by the door, mentioning them as Lily, Pearl, Song, and Angel. “They’re the Signet Sisters, as the town calls them,” she grins.

Some young men walk up to Magnus, greeting him and complimenting him on his win at the Harvest Festival. They introduce themselves as Reg, Farn, and Olad. Reg sports a huge black beard, Farn’s heavy brows knit into one, and Olad is a round and jolly character. “One day we’ll beat you,” Olad says, winking at him.

Bree and Hailey Talibax join them for a conversation, complimenting Magnus on his  _ fantastic _ shelving unit and telling him all about how useful it’s been for them. “We’re  _ so _ glad you were able to do this for us,” Hailey says, her smile bright and cheery. “I don’t know what we would have done without new shelves.”

“Reorganized,” Bree tacks on with distaste.

Hailey nods. “We hate reorganizing.”

The pair is eventually drawn away by the twins, and Magnus and Julia eventually withdraw from the scene and retreat to the kitchen where it’s a little quieter. They watch the guests mill about happily from their more secluded location, content to grasp hands and watch for a bit.

Eventually, Julia comments quietly, “It’s a shame that all of us--this entire town full of nice, innocent people--should be held so tightly under the thumb of an oppressive and greedy man.”

Magnus nods. “Someone should do something about it,” he replies.

“I’ve got a group working on a project right now,” Julia says. They’re not making eye contact.

Magnus grabs a cup of punch from a nearby table and takes a nonchalant gulp. “How soon do you think the project will be ready?”

“Another few weeks. Got any skills?”

“I’m pretty good with an axe.”

“We’re not looking to cut down trees right now.”

“I can still teach people how to use one. I can do some muscular training?”

“That would be useful. Do you have any experience with public speaking?”

Magnus thinks back to that staticky memory of reporters and flashing lights and microphones. “I think so.”

Colin passes through the kitchen and waves to Julia, who tenses up for just a moment before smiling back. “Hi, Colin,” she says.

“Hey, Julia,” he says, and disappears through a side door. Julia relaxes.

It’s quiet for a moment. Then, a young woman approaches them. She doesn’t make eye contact. She looks for all the world to be grabbing something to eat. “Another addition to the project?”

Julia nods. It’s barely noticeable but the young woman registers the movement. “He would he a great asset,” the woman says.

“I can do whatever you need,” he tells her. “Heavy lifting. Transport. Materials.”

Julia nods again. “Just what we need.”

The woman smiles and, as she breezes past them, Magnus sees her eyes flash.

“When did you start?” he asks Julia after a pause.

“About two months ago. We’ve been preparing since. Just in case.”

“I think it’s time to get something done.”

“Agreed.”

* * *

 

The party goes on, late into the night. The pair eats and drinks and talks and laughs with the rest of the group, playing games and singing songs until eventually, Magnus notices when Julia begins to wane and says, “Do you want to go home?”

She nods. “Yeah. I think so. It’s been a long day.”

Magnus grins. “That’s not really a bad thing. It’s Candlenights! We made a huge profit, we got lots of good food, I made lots of friends, and--” he pauses. “And I got to kiss you.”

He watches her blush before she punches him in the arm and says, “Shut up, you.” She’s grinning.

Magnus helps her put her cloak on before he dons his own jacket and says to the group, “We’re going home now, guys. Goodnight! Happy Candlenights!”

“Happy Candlenights!” everyone choruses back, and then the pair steps into the swirling snow.

The walk back is quiet, save for the wind singing in the spires. Magnus and Julia hold hands, swinging their arms to keep warm. Eventually they stagger through the door of the Hammer and Tongs and both sigh in relief, glad to be in the warm again, when both freeze in place.

Steven Waxmen stares at his daughter and his apprentice together, smiling, and holding hands.

Then, he grins. “I knew it wouldn’t be too long before you gave in, Julia,” he says. Switching his gaze to Magnus, he adds, “Proud of you.”

Magnus flushes, but not as heavily as Julia, who ducks her head. “Yeah,” she says. “I was a bit of an ass.”

“A bit,” Magnus laughs.

“Hey!” Julia protests, elbowing him lightly.

“Alright, alright, kids,” Steven laughs. “I think that’s quite enough Candlenights joy for the night. You’re not sharing a room. Go to bed, you’ve had quite the day.”

Together, the pair ascends the stairs. Julia heads straight for her room once they enter the narrow hallway but Magnus takes her hand and slowly pulls her back. “Hey,” he says. “I, uh. Made you something for Candlenights.”

He takes her hand, turns it palm-up, and places in it the small wooden necklace he’d made for her. She stares at it in wonder, then looks back up at him with a smile. “It’s adorable,” she says. “I’ll wear it all the time.”

“I’ll make you all the necklaces you want, too,” Magnus says earnestly. “If you want them.”

“Of course I want them,” Julia says, her voice softer. “Whatever you can give me, I’ll take.” Then she leans forward and up and places a sweet kiss on his lips. “Thank you, Mags.”

“Y-yeah,” he says, still on a bit of a headrush from the fact that  _ Julia Waxmen kissed him. _

She grins. “Goodnight, Mags.” She pats his cheek and turns, entering her room.

“Goodnight, Jules,” Magnus replies, his words belated as she’s already shut her door.

Nevertheless he smiles, and he continues smiling as he undresses, and he continues smiling as he falls asleep, and he continues smiling as he dreams of soft, full lips pressing against him oh so sweetly.

* * *

 

The day after Candlenights, Kalen is rather surprised to hear the door to his office swing open. Behind it is Colin. “Sir,” he says, voice quavering with nerves, “I have something to report.”

“Yes?” Kalen says.

“It’s the citizens,” Colin declares, his voice strengthening. “They’re threatening to rebel. They’ll act soon.”

Kalen sits up much straighter. “Thank you, Colin,” he says. “Your loyalty is much appreciated.”

“Of course, sir.” Colin bows a little. “Anything for you, Lord Kalen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a month and a half late I'm so sorry
> 
> Anyway I'm on hiatus until mid January so I'll see you next year!!!!
> 
> Remember to kudos/comments if you liked this fic, and follow me on Tumblr @themindofcc for writing updates and previews!


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